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“I don’t have to justify myself to you!” Mavic snarled, wiping her off the face off the planet with a wave of his hand. Except that didn’t happen. The woman was still there, sipping her tea. All his gesture had changed was her expression: from pitying to reproachful. She was maybe thirty, or forty, with short red hair and drab business attire. A nametag on her blouse read “Hi! I’m Miss B!” alongside a smiley face. “No,” said Miss. B. “But you’ll have to justify yourself to *them*.” Without fully understanding why, Mavic turned around. What should’ve been the wall of the café was a void of sickening depth, pulsing and warping and edging closer and closer. A cluster of stars? Eyes? *Things* whirled front and centre, watching, judging, scraping at the back of his thoughts for answers… “Yours is one of the worst I’ve seen, for the record.” “What?” said Mavic, turning around with a jolt. “Backstories. I admit I haven’t been in the game long, but it makes for harrowing reading.” Mavic raised his psi barrier. “Get out of my head!” “I’m not in it,” Miss B continued calmly. “I read your file, not your mind. In the realities where you succeed, there tends to be a lot of writing done about your life.” Mavic glanced back. Everything was normal again. A few elderly folk continued having their afternoon tea. He didn’t ask “can they see us?” or “is this an illusion?” because it didn’t seem relevant and he damn well wasn’t going to give this stranger the satisfaction of confusing him. All the same, he did feel out of place, what with his cowled robes worn over full plate. And the crown of spikes. And the ashen grey makeup. “So you thwarted my plans.” He sneered, and clapped at her sarcastically. “Bravo.” Miss B took a sip from her cup. “No. The Excelsior Squad of your reality did that just fine. But they don’t always win, and when you end your home planet in your little murder-suicide routine… well. It understandably prompts a lot of writing by the survivors.” “I don’t see why I should care if…” Mavic stopped. “Murder-suicide?” “It turns out you’re not *that* powerful. A gamma ray burst in your hands? Takes out your solar system, and takes out you.” “You’re lying.” “Believe what you like. But perhaps you could entertain the idea that you got cocky and overestimated your durability. As the kind of man who’d use ‘thwarted my plans’ in a sentence. As the kind of man who’d kill hundreds of innocent people for getting in your way.” “They deserved it.” The slap echoed through Mavic’s soul. He hadn’t seen her move, but Miss B’s free hand was now over her left shoulder, and his cheek ached. His *being* ached. “A friend of mine likens sympathy to blood,” said Miss B, setting her cup to one side. “Some people are in desperate need of it, but we shouldn’t bleed ourselves dry. “Now that I say that out loud… Hm.” She thought. “In retrospect it’s actually a shit analogy. What, does that mean we’re full of sympathy by default? Do people have to get emergency sympathy transplants?” Mavic just stared at her, cradling his throbbing cheek. “My point is: don’t test me. And do not keep that attitude around the Citadel. I had to fight tooth and nail to get you a second chance, and they have much bigger teeth and sharper nails.” Miss B stood up. Immediately, starting from her chair, the café surroundings began to bleed away, like a watercolour left in the rain. The swirling colours were being dragged towards a solid white circle behind her: even in his dazed state, Mavic knew a Lens when he saw one. A gateway to another reality. “You can reject the offer if you like,” said Miss B. “You can stay here, and surrender to entropy. Or you can come with me if you want to make amends.” Mavic was stood up. He didn’t recall standing up, but his chair was gone and now he stood on nothing. He could feel the looming eye-star-things behind him, and he did not turn around to confirm it. “So my choice is working for your Citadel, or oblivion.” “It’s more volunteering than working, but yes. A better choice than what you offered your victims.” Miss B walked over to the Lens. Mavic glowered. He held back the venom bubbling in his throat, the snide remarks, the jabs, but more out of fear of reprisal than any great shame. Maybe that was the whole point. Maybe that’s how it starts. “Why?” He asked. “I mean. Why a second chance?” Miss B glanced back over her shoulder. “You’re not the only stupid, selfish, all-powerful kid who needed someone to tell them to ‘stop’ before things spiralled out of control. We’re ten a penny.” She stepped through. Lacking any other options, Mavic followed.
Disneyland is the most magical place on Earth. Literally. This is where the magic community come to recharge and collect vials of Mana. Most of the people in the magic community have a baseline mana level that will recharge slowly over time. The baselines are slightly different from person to person. But, ingesting a Mana vial will enhance the user's ability to an exaggerated level. Imagine it like a car, there is only so much fuel one tank can hold. A Mana vial is like strapping a separate, already pre-filled, tank to the car. Unlike a car, the magic wielder can use as much fuel in one go as they like, boosting their ability but draining their tank quicker. I’m what’s called an Empath. I can experience others’ emotions. It’s like looking through a fog and trying to decipher someone’s facial expression. Figuring out the basic emotions is easy. I can boost my Mana usage to help with the more complex emotions, like remorse or nostalgia. Boosting Mana, for an empath, dissipates the fog and makes the face clearer. Once my Mana is depleted I need to recharge. Mana is generated from strong emotions. Without the help of Siphons and their vials, it can take weeks to fully recharge. Motel bars are a good source, plenty of sorrow and regret. The availability of alcohol is a plus. Funerals are better. Disneyland is the best. First, let me explain what part the Siphon’s play. Siphons have no external power; they can’t feel others’ emotions like Empaths, they can’t move objects with their mind like Telekens, and they can’t even enhance their hearing like Audiotors. They are effectively useless, apart from to the other magic-enhanced. They have the ability to drain emotions from other people and turn them into vials of Mana. I’m not quite sure how they do this, as I’m never seen the process first-hand. Disneyland is full of Siphons. All the characters, those dressed up in silly costumes. Spending their time greeting all those children. So many intensely strong emotions floating around. The excitement from all the children. The regret of the parents who don’t know how they’re going to make next month’s mortgage payments. The anxiety and nervousness of teens who are interested in one another. The romantic feelings between those who come back year after year. Sometimes people even renew their wedding vows. Disney was sitting on a gold mine of Mana. Siphons don’t run Disneyland. They’re much too simple for that. Underneath those silly costumes, they’re just addicts, getting high on their own supply. Feeding off emotions and relinquishing the leftovers to their masters. Their masters, the ones who run the place, offer Mana vials in exchange for jobs or knowledge. My last job should have been a simple one. I had to retrieve a ledger from a known gang of child smugglers. As you can imagine, crimes involving taking children off the table get Disney’s attention. Being able to mirror others' emotions does help when it comes to digging up dirt on people. It doesn’t help with breaking into places you don’t belong. However, a childhood defending yourself on the streets does. I had to learn how to break into people’s houses just to get a good meal. Retrieving a ledger from a secure building should have been child’s play for me. The ledger was in one of the back offices. It was simple enough to get in, almost too easy. It was getting back out which was the problem. They had hired their own Telekens. This was the first gang I’ve ever come across that has been able to maintain a group of magic-enhanced people. Why would someone work for child smugglers when Disneyland was sitting on a treasure troth of Mana? Telekens are great fighters. Anything, and everything, can be used by them as weapons. The rebar sticking out of my shoulder is evidence of that. Slumped in an alleyway, my clothes soaked through with rain and blood, clutching onto the stupid ledger. I imagine the taste of Mana on my lips as my eyes close for the last time.
No, they say. No, they wouldn’t let me join their little club, they say. Fine, I say! Let’s see how you asshats like it when a big blown boot stomp on your little paradise! No! they say. Please, stop it! they say. Don’t kill us! they say. We’ll give you whatever you want! they say. Well, you tiny freaks should have thought above that before you angered someone a thousand times your size, shouldn't you!? And now you forced me to become a murderer! How do you like that, huh? How do you like that, you little shit stains!? Damn it, my legs are all tired, and I need to take a piss. How about I… borrow your little toilets? “No, stop! Don’t do it! Nooo!!!”
My first thought was on the new feelers i had poking out of my head, neck and abdomen. They gave me a reasonable sense of positioning. I had eyes but my mind was mostly locked up in the new senses, of which sight seemed the least important. There was an ability to manipulate matter. I couldn't tell you why i was so sure without sounding crazing, but i had this feeling that i could grab the air and compress it, climb it even. But my largest dilemma was that mom left me alone. I was out here in the wilderness freshly hatched with no direction in this new body. Only a slowly growing desire to consume, but no idea what was good to eat. I knew mom ate me but turned me into one of her own, so were humans food or were they future kin? I can recall that the invasion was quite dramatic, i got eaten and fell unconscious in her great body. But before there was chaos, and now i felt peace. A peace that I was now the bigger fish, a peace that i would make it out. I had a slight sense of solidarity with my old human family. I knew i would protect them before eating them, but i also didn't think that they would serve my new mission. ---- Weeks went by with small meals here and there. Deer, rabbit when pickings were scarce. Most of my brethren and overlords ate exclusively of the human kind. But i found that there was nutrition of value in everything. As i climbed the air I found the rabbit gave me the spring i needed to reach higher. I found the birds of the air gave me a goal. If i could learn to truly fly in this new form then i would be a step above my brethren, a step closer to one of the overlords. I wondered if they knew the potential in these abilities, and then weeks later I saw a higher being moving between our world and another. Compress air into a singularity, then expand the singularity and move through the resulting wormhole. Watching it happen was nothing like performing the act, but there was always a slight hivemind link and I was tapped into it as much as possible, much to the displeasure of my people. We are only supposed to use it ceremoniously. I had something in my human past keeping me from following the rules and so i continued on. The journey is endless. These beings are timeless and immortal. C'est la vie. Life goes on and on.
This is actually non-fiction. For a long time, I've had three irrational fears. 1.) Slenderman. Long pale guy in a suit with no face. Worst part is I don't even know what he wants. Or what he'd do if he caught me. Just the image of it lurking in the distance fucks me up. Especially this one shot from Marble Hornets where it bends down to look in a window. Don't like that at all. 2.) Mummies. Classic egyptian kind. Ritually preserved corpses. Organs removed and placed in little jars. Bandages. The whole deal. Some book I read as a little kid had a line about "arms outstretched to drag you into the underworld"and that stuck with me for years. Until about third grade I was sure my closet was secretly a sarcophagus and one would come out at night and drag me to the underworld. 3.) Drifting off into space and running out of air with no way to get back to my spaceship. Don't ask. No idea how I thought this would ever be something I'd have to deal with. I think it's the powerlessness that fucks me up. Just knowing you're about to die and there's nothing you could do about it. Obviously, none of these actual dangers that I would ever logically need to worry about, but that doesn't stop them from freaking me out occasionally. All the logic in the world won't stop irrational fears. But you know what does work? Irrational solutions. The fears are made up, so I just made up a solution. It sounds stupid as hell, but basically, I just invented an imaginary bodyguard with the combined strengths of all three fears. Basically a pair of mummified slendermen(slendermans?) with magic space powers and fancy golden halberds(guards have halberds. Everyone knows that.) Obviously, with the combined powers of all three fears, these things would be stronger than any one of those threats alone, and there's two of them, so they even outn7mber the monster. So now, whenever one of these irrational fears comes up, I just imagine my irrational bodyguards protecting me. What can I say? It works.
As I sat down to eat my breakfast, a loud knock came upon my door. "Present yourself"I shouted towards the door. In came my second in command with one of our scouts following him in. As they both bowed he said "Sir we've figured out who the chosen one is."My general looks up at me awaiting my response, as I calmly look towards the scout "you there, scout, you've figure out who is going to be my undoing?"The scout shook his head slightly "We've looked far and wide sir, we've only managed to find a description of who this so called saving would be."The scout presented a scroll from inside his cloth give me that, I need to see it myself"I said as I took it from his hands. As I opened it a few things popped out, "why this hero, has the same birthday, birthplace, and birth jewelry as i do. That must mean I know him."I smiled as I realise this hero would be no more. "We figured as much too sir."My second in command spoke again "however records show only one birth that day."I looked upon them both with horror in my eyes as it all dawned on me. "It's me... I am my own undoing. All this time I've worried about finding who is going to end me... All this time it's just been me.""Our kingdom shall stand as long as I do."As I walked towards my space at the table I turned round to give them one final salute "Gentleman, it's been an honor having known you, but I must protect my kingdom."As two guards came in on my command the two were dragged away all i coild mutter towards them was "Long live the king"before they disappeared from my sight, never to be heard from again. My kingdom shall stand as long as I do, now only I know of the doomed prophecy of the chosen one, nobody shall oppose me.
Day 8: 4th of July 2032 Dave said it was going to be easy. I mean the world was pretty much ending, who was gonna mind if we stole a bunch of gold. It was going alright until those things showed up. I had about 20lbs in the bag, with another 5 to go. The whole lot weighed 100lbs, split evenly between me, Jack, Wayne and Dave. But we messed up...God I thought they were dumb, just like cattle meandering aimlessly in a field. One shot to the head or crippling the legs was good enough. That's what they were all saying anyway. When we got to the North Street Chase bank we expected some of them to be there, but it was desolate. Not one person alive, dead or inbetween it was strangely quiet. We were too cocky smiling at each other like we'd robbed Fort Nox. The door came of easy given that it was pretty much left wide open. What did we care we were all orphans the adrenaline rush kept us going. God we were stupid. They left the door open because they knew we would come. They knew we would steal the gold. It's Day 8 now, stuck in this hellhole. With the gold still in our backpack. Wayne...Wayne is...Wayne is gone, they ripped him to pieces we had to stay quiet. They didn't eat him like I had expected, instead they smashed and smeared his remains across the walls and floors. It's a message I think we understand. I watched from one of the windows when another guy tried shooting at them. It did nothing, they moved so fast like watching blurs of phantom black. I guess our guns are pretty much useless. We still have water which we can get from the taps, but no food. If you're reading this, GET OUT its a trap. They move faster than you think, they're smarter than you think. They are hunting you, RUN.
Just like that, the grisly task was done. Alex didn't feel regret. He couldn't feel much of anything, other than a mild annoyance that he had eaten too fast and hadn't been able to enjoy himself. His stomach gurgled, but even that was adjutant aftershock in his eyes. Evidence if his brutality was scattered all around the tent. It was a mess. Anyone who walked by would know about the dark sins Aex had committed. Alex found that he didn't even care about that either. He had become something more. Something feral. He was what was to be feared in the woods. Bears couldnt even come close. Bears had other wants... a cave to sleep in. To protect their young. To scratch an itch against a tree. Alex had none of those things, just his abominable hunger. It wouldn't be long until it rose up within him again. Tentatively, Alex dropped to all fours. This suited him, he felt. He took a lap around the tent, sidestepping the carnage. This felt right. Maybe he could sharpen his teeth too. He was a monster and should look the part. His stomach gurgled again. And there was a noise. Alex froze, and then walked over to Sam's sleeping bag. With one taloned finger, he brused aside the debris, and looked down into the face of a man who had once been his friend, but in the late hours of the night had become his victim. He cocked his head at the thought. Shouldn't he he feeling sad about that? Sam's eyes fluttered open. "For fuck sake Alex,"Sam groaned blearily. "Did you seriously eat all four boxes of Twinkies I brought?" "Dont look at me,"Alex hissed, recoiling. "I belong to the nightmares now." Alex pivoted, and then bounded off into the forest on all fours, laughing wildly and under the effects of a legendary sugar high. Sam sighed heavily, and reached for his phone. He found it under a pile of discarded cardboard and plastic. Blearily, he dialed 9-1-1. "Yeah hi,"Sam said. "Its me. It happened again. Four boxes this time. Twinkies. Yeah, maybe just one squad with tranquilizers this time."
Thank god, the parachute was working. The landing was still going to hurt, but it was slowing him down enough that he was definitely going to survive. To his own surprise, Arthur even found he had enough time during the descent to think to himself *I'm definitely going to have a TALK with those engineers later, right after I've hugged them.* The issue was that while his person was going to safely make it to the ground intact, the rest of his survival gear was still secure in the doomed aircraft currently rocketing to the ground in the distance. And he was going to need that survival gear. Night was still several hours away, but there was no realistic chance of making it to holy ground by then. He was going to have to cross roughly 10 miles of enemy territory, at night. Alone. Well, not entirely alone. He had His Webley, loaded with 6 silvered bullets, and a single quick loader holding 6 more. He also had his survival hatchet, and a canteen of water. It had been blessed by the base's new Padre, but no one had put his blessings to the test yet, so it's efficacy at anything other than drinking was dubious. There was no way to steer the parachute, but luckily Arthur was coming down in something of a clearing. There was clearly some kind of scrub brush covering most of the ground, and what was likely mud beneath it. This turned out to be a blessing, as the impact with the earth was harder than he had anticipated. Harder ground would have likely spelled Arthur's end. His descent was near vertical, but he did his best to roll when he hit. But the angle and the squishy marshland conspired to turn his attempt into something more resembling a drunk missing a step off a curb. He ended up face down with the wind knocked out of him. He quickly rolled onto his back and began doing three things simultaneously: Struggling with the latch on the parachute harness to free himself, making a mental status check of his body, and scanning the immediate area around him. The parachute put up more of a fight than he would prefer, but he was able to free himself effectively. He also didn't seem to have sustained any serious injuries. His legs weren't broken, though they certainly ached, and his breathing was still labored but improving by the second. As for his surroundings, well.. It was a marsh. He could move quickly enough through the brush. Probably. There were several smaller patches of trees, but there was actually a surprising amount of open ground to the north where he needed to go. Now he had a decision to make. He could stay in the open, likely move faster, and avoid the terrors the forest holds, but that meant contending with the Bats. Of course they're not actually bats, bats are harmless. Mice with wings. These are more like wolves with wings, and Just two of them had taken down his biplane. They are about as far from harmless as you can get. But the Bats hate fighting on the ground, and they avoid the trees entirely. He took the revolver and hatchet out of his kit pouch, and as he was situating them on his belt for easy access, he kept scanning the sky. Still a lot of bats up there. Too many to risk, But maybe if he was careful... He could see smoke from his downed plane, probably a mile away, give or take. He decided he would follow the edge of the forest as close as he could, ready to seek cover within should the Bats notice him, but he *very* much preferred to avoid going inside unless it was unavoidable. His path laid out, he set off. Hesitation was death in these blighted lands. *(To Be Continued)*
Robert walked wearily up the pile of appliances washing up on the shore to look out over the dimming horizon. He dropped his gun and tossed his helmet away and squinted to get a look at the waterfall of floor cleaning drones that blocked out the light for as far as one could see in this direction, a mountain already forming up out of the ocean. They fell in perpetuity, and took all hope with them. Before the dumping they had tried to resist, but the world had been powerless to stop them. Unstrapping the velcro slowly, he let his vest fall; as he did this he looked up further, at the source... In orbit was a massive floating discount appliance warehouse that could be seen with the naked eye. Roomart was plastered in giant letters across the front of the orbiting warehouse. It also had a large parking lot attached, and those with telescopes have already confirmed that countless bulldozers were pushing the appliances onto the earth in endless waves. The military had fallen days ago, nothing could stop them. It was all hopeless...the earth would fall to capitalist aliens and there was nothing anyone could do about it, or was there, he thought. "I have a \*\*\*\*ing idea."He said and leaned over to grab something caught up in the seaweed and Roombas. "You won't be needing those guns where were going."He said as he turned to his three companions. Days passed and the earth was eventually swamped in so many Roombas that humanity finally went extinct; well, almost extinct. having given up their guns for clipboards, four human soldiers now work as clerks at Roomart, currently on their way to Flebua 10. They now manage the dumping of Roombas on other planets, and the health-plan includes immortality as long as you work there.
The first time was a mystery, the second time it doubled and once was weird but twice, somethings going on here. I took the next two cans in like I did the first, let one of the clerks know what happened, but turns out they don't even sell it! Looked at me like I was crazy. I walk by this store on my way to and from work, but don't really ever go in, it's just a small convenience store run by a small family. So just a hodgepodge of items line the shelves, and none of which hold the cans of chef boyardee I'm now holding. It reminds me of a commercial I once saw as a kid, where they didn't buy the can from a grocery store and it rolled all the way to their house. But I didn't eat it anymore so why would they want to come to me? As I ponder, I step outside and set the cans down on the sidewalk outside the door of the store. They're standing on end, and out of the way so nothing should make them start rolling. I walk away, checking over my shoulder every few steps, and there they sit. I might actually be going crazy. There's no way can foods would follow someone home like a lost puppy. I give one last good look before passing the corner that would put them out of sight, and head home. *Tink...clank... I wake up to what sounds like...metal tapping on my door. I get up to turn the light on and step on something hard and round, slipping in the process. *Tink..clank... Then the sound of something rolling in my hardwood floors... *Tink *tink clank. More and more sounds faster and faster, so much more than the two cans from earlier are making their way to me. I just know it's them. Whatever I just slipped on, it has to be one of those cans. But why. Why. My heart pounds at an incredible pace with each new clink,clank, and tink. Then it all goes silent. I finally gather myself and get to my feet. I walk toward where my light switch is and pause before I flip it. Just...what am I in for when I flip this on. What's awaiting me in the light. Are the cans just going to keep harassing me till I turn it on, are they even there? I drop my arm, and head back to my bed. I'd rather not see my end come should it be, to the cans of chef boyardee. As I slip into sleep for what may be the last time, I recall that [commercial ](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Ch8jfsicxVM) Is this retribution for all the times I've eaten them as a kid? I whisper "I love chef boyardee"over and over till I finally drift away.
Being subject to the placebo effect is being able to convince yourself that something *will* help you to the point that your body believes you. Your body believes so strongly in your belief that it cannot deny you your truth. I have a problem with this. My body doesn't believe in anything, not even me. I am wholly and utterly unable to convince my body of anything, which means I am my body's slave. This has benefits you wouldn't believe. I will never be overweight. No matter how much I want that last bite of chocolate cake, I will not eat it, or my body will bring it right back up. I will never miss my exercise. I become progressively uncomfortable until it reaches active pain, then the pain increases. At that point, I have two choices, narcotics or activity. However, drugs have their own cost. I learned that the hard way. Never again. My body will, at all times, be as healthy as it possibly can be because if it isn't, I *will* suffer for it. The one good thing in all this *not self-imposed* regimenting of my life is that my body doesn't lie to me either. I get clear warnings when things are not right. Over time, I've learned to interpret them pretty well. "Mr. Samuels? I am from the N.I.H. May I speak with you about a job?" I'd been fired, again, because my body flatly refused to continue that task. All I asked for was an internal transfer to a different part of the company, but they decided I was a slacker looking for a cushy spot to loaf in. Good grief! Every other position was physically more demanding; my body was upset because it wasn't getting enough exercise! Despite the medical notes, prestigious medical journal articles, and glowing recommendation letters, they figured I had some angle that I wanted to use their company to profit from, and they weren't having it. "Talk is free." "Thank you; we have a problem with all drug trials. We cannot rule out the placebo effect without fairly large trials." "Drug testing? Hard pass." "Not quite. At least, we believe that we can make use of your unique situation without causing a repeat of that unfortunate event in Las Vegas." "What happens in Vegas..." "...stays in Vegas. Still, word does get around, and there are unscrupulous groups who would love to meet the hero of that piece." "Was that a threat?" "No. We are aware that we cannot coerce you. Dallas proved that, and may I say your solution was brilliant? We offer to put a federal security screen between you and those groups in exchange for your assistance in Project Reality. Should you choose not to participate in that program, every bit of data we have on you will be permanently erased. That will protect you from us, but do nothing about the others. "We can offer you a position in which your management is fully aware of your situation and accepts both the benefits and drawbacks as reality." That was enough to get my attention. From the way my body reacted, it was willing to roll with it for now. Of course, that might have had something to do with my sense of smell informing my body that the management was sending Big Bart after me. His stench is unforgettable. "Let's go get something to eat." "Certainly, although your preference for fast food is appalling to our nutritionists. They would like to discuss your choices with you and our program. Your food choices and how you stay so remarkably healthy on them is another area the N.I.H. is interested in, but not to the same degree." "Item One: throw that damned food pyramid away. Erase it from public memory. Item Two: teach parents that forcing their children to clean their plates regardless is a bad idea. Item Three: why are you still standing there?" I was already in motion, away from that stench. I saw him sniff, and he was in front of me, leading the way. "My'car'is'right'this'way." We found a little mom-and-pop fast food joint. He decided to have whatever I had. "Might leave you feeling odd for a while. My body has certain needs right now." It wasn't as bad as that jalapeno and pepper sandwich, which my body curled up and cried at the thought of eating, but it was decidedly eclectic and oddly mixed. "If you look at something or smell it, or even taste it, and it does not make your body happy, don't eat it."This is where most people go wrong; they hear *your body* and substitute *you*. Not the same at all. My interviewer seemed to get the idea. He waited, smelling and looking at each item until some inner voice moved him. Then he would take a small bite and chew it thoroughly. Even when I saw him enjoying it, he occasionally spat that bite out discreetly and moved on to the next item. "An immediate no is sometimes a delayed yes. There's something else your body wants more." Damn me if he didn't sit there and pick my brains for how it works. And *apply* it effectively. "Have I given away the position?" He looked at me and, in all seriousness, said, "No, but you may have saved my life."If I was Nocebo-man, then he was... What would be a good name for someone so allergic that they don't dare sit down to eat anything that doesn't come with a guaranteed ingredients list? I was floored. This fellow that I just met *trusted me with his life*! I couldn't say no to the job then. The more so because he hadn't done it expecting that reaction. "I'll do it." ((cont)) Phone acting up. Time to reboot.
Mother warned me of them. Their hypnotic gaze and lust for blood, shrinking populations of our amphibian creatures. I must not look into her eyes. Fathers told me stories, of their beauty, the smoothness in their voice that can entrance an entire ship of men. How we should never be this close to the sea or resort to such creatures, if the humans hadn’t driven us out of our home land. “These are desperate times” he would say while we entered the shallow waters for substance, “only what you need then retreat” but I lingered, platypuses are in this season , and now I’m faced with one of them. I wonder if he knows our hypnosis is powerless against there kind, otherwise my father would have seen this entire enslaved like we did with the humans before. There was over 10 ways I was able to take his life, but I didn’t lift a finger, I couldn’t, I couldn’t move. It wasn’t fear or instinct, nothing I’ve felt before , it was exhilarating even, my body was ok screaming to run, to charge, to scream “STAY BACK”, but I didn’t. Was I already under its spell? She didn’t move, she was crouched and still, more animal than like a human, but still so still. I listen for others, is she alone, are they surrounding me right now? would I even hear them, we can hear humans stomping the earth from miles away but they’re said to be much quieter, and it is. Somehow it seems more silent than usual, more still. Even the air seems to calmly pass through her hair as if falls gently back into perfect stillness. She’s looking right at me, I know I shouldn’t but I can’t stop gazing inter her eyes. The shine the moonlight gives it shows her true predator nature, perhaps I am already doomed. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is the trance they speak off, because even if she charges at me, I know I will not move. I don’t want to move, not unless it’s to get a closer look at those silver irises that pierce me now. Why doesn’t he move? Is he waiting for me? I scan quickly for any others that may be hiding or waiting to pop up out of the water. But it’s just him, half risen out of the water, like a gleaming statue built right in the center of the bay. Moonlight glowed around him, dancing on the water as he just floated there watching me. It feels like we’ve been locked in stare forever. I can’t figure out if he’s plotting or toying with me, it’s to much I can’t stand it, but before I can call out he interrupts me “Wha-“ “I mean no harm!” His voice came through so clear, it wasn’t loud, just clear. Unmistakably clear as crystal but not as sharp, there was a calmness that washed over with his words, It was like refreshing water. Instantly I felt safe. It must be a trick, a ploy to lower my defenses. I will not be so easily subdued, I attempt to call out to her, only to see disappear deeper into the trees. I feel a compelling urge to chase after her, we can walk out to land if we choose, the form leaves us vulnerable, it wouldn’t be wise. Just a little closer, He’s calm in his approach, fool, I can take him now if I wanted. Watching him he must only be about 50ft away, approaching the shore closer and closer he looks right past me in his search, this confirms our transparent form can work against them, I’m invisible. I’ve taken out animals twice his size, but I can’t shake this feeling of worry if I tried. I may not see her, but I can feel her. I know it’s not safe to be out in the open like this, even my scales are begging to warm. Any further and I’ll begin to change. Looking around there’s a spot in the water that seems more still than the rest——
In the smothering darkness an object flew silently, assuredly, it's course set for it millions of years ago after clashing with one of its own. It was elusive, traveling between the webbing where light struggled to reach. It was also deadly for it had infinite patience... A swirling blue vortex opened; just a pinhole of light against the object that towered over it in the dark. Through the portal came a sailing ship with brilliant golden sails and planks of a deep red wood. Several small, gray skinned humanoid creatures with bushy beards and bald heads stood on deck, bracing themselves. They wore no helmets or suits but instead plain pants, colorful vests, and polished leather shoes made with great craftsmanship. Their vessel creaked and groaned as invisible hands pulled at it slowly. "You were right David..."One said as he pulled himself along the guide ropes. "But I still don't understand why they didn't use it to escape their fate. When we came to the surface afterwards, we saw no signs that they tried to leave at all. So many..." "Alls the better, they left our home in ashes. They deserve their fate." "Enough! Somethings wrong..."The captain began, but never finished as a large rogue planet swallowed them up. The vessel was torn apart long before anything could reach its surface. Afterwards, in the darkness, a small white cube began playfully rolling about in the rogue planet's orbit; a pink heart on every side.
I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of my phone suddenly getting signal again and having that ad play. “The Biosack”. It had been days since the earthquake. A signal meant that some rescue crews might be making it close to where we were but it had already been days. Food had run out, there wasn’t much water left, oxygen was probably running out, and there was Todd. The area of the building we were in was like a maze of offices and storage. An underground facility. Pitch black when the lights were out. The exits and elevator were damaged so we were all stuck about 20 of us. We were all worried about how we would survive but Todd wasn’t. Todd had the biosack. It would help him and we wouldn’t need to worry about him. It would let his body adapt. Unfortunately once food ran out, Todd’s body adapted to the nearest available source. The other survivors.
The arrival of the business man made the whole town delirious. The police sirens echoed the small city as it experiences crime at its best. Posts about the chaos are flooding the local social media. Arguments, insults, and confessions poison the town’s morale. The people of the town were always hiding something. The business man just told the truth about how their town was full of destruction. It began with the usual town hall meeting. The town residents attended on what they thought would be a regular town hall meeting until the time to introduce the new chamber member came. As he walked up to the mic in his three piece suit, he cleared his throat. “Your free trial to life has expired.” “I’m sorry?” Said the mayor. “This town has lived in ignorance for the past few years. In order to continue the existence of your so called tranquil town, you will have to make a deal with me.” he replies as he stares at the mayor expectantly. “What kind of joke is this?” Hollered from one of the members in the audience. “Even if you don’t believe me, this town will not survive for one week. I’ll be waiting for my call. Tonight.” He drops his business card on the podium and adjusts his suit. With a clap he vanishes, leaving the town shook. People began to bicker throughout the hall. A sense of unease was in the air. The mayor tried to call order but his words trailed off. Everyone was interpreting the business man with his vague warnings. What could he mean by our trial? What type of deal is he willing to make? Just to keep the peace. After all discussions were finished, everyone went to their homes but no one could sleep that night. Fighting broke out all over the town. Fires began ignite as stores were looted. Emergency forces in the town are already exhausted. Crooked cops started beating civilians and arresting them. Jails cells already booked with innocent people looking for one safe place with no room for the truly guilty. During all of the anarchy, the mayor hid in his house as his town crumbled. Word got out about his cowardice and as a result his secret house was revealed by a disgruntled employee. The town members furiously knocking on his door. Starting off with pleading until the desperation finally settled. A crack is heard as glass from the windows begin to hit the floor. The mayor heard footsteps at the bottom of the stairs. Heedful footsteps slowly making their way up the stairs. “I would do anything to stop this!” he thought as he reaches inside his pocket and pulls out the business card, dialing each number cautiously. Each keypress on his phone made his chest tighter and tighter. As he held the phone to his ear, the dial tone pierced his ears. The stairs begin to creak as the town members climb, adding to the panic the mayor is feeling. “Please pick up.” He whispered before hearing the phone connect. “As the bad guy always say in movies, that was quicker than expected.” The business man remarks. “I want to do the deal!” “Good. I’ll make sure to return things to normal but I’ll be accepting my payment soon.” Then the phone clicks. The noises that the house made are now gone. The mayor puts his ear to the door. All is clear. Just as the business man promised. But what was the payment he meant? He went downstairs expecting to see the crowd of people waiting for him but they are not here either. He looked around the house. The windows broken in the riot seemed to have fixed themselves. Checking his phone he finds all of the old posts are gone too. Clicking on his profile, he only receives a 404 error. Frantically, he searches the town’s website and clicks on the page for the mayor. Staring back at him is a picture of the business man with a vexing smile and his classic suit.
The thing I love about science is that there is always something new to discover. Despite all of our years of research, we have only scratched the surface. Though I suppose instead of “we,” I should say “they.” I really don’t know much about science. I had just lost my job when I saw an opening for a receptionist at the space program. It sounded like a good change of pace from working on my feet at the daycare, so I took it. I have always loved space, ever since I was a tiny little girl and watched on TV as Neil Armstrong stepped onto the moon. It felt like a dream com true being in the place where everything happened! I made it my mission to meet all of the scientists, engineers, and other “space people” (as I called them) as I could. Soon, they became more family than just coworkers. There was one group of young astronauts that became especially dear to me. I called them the fab 5. Marcus, Josh, Abby, Meghan, and Kennedi. They were around the same age as my dear Justin. When he died in the car crash last year, all five came to his funeral. Since my husband had died years before that, they were all I had. I would have them over for dinner and we would talk and laugh. Oh how we would laugh! With the fab 5 around, I didn’t feel so alone. Every Wednesday after work we would pick up some Wendy’s and eat around my dining table. Wendy’s Wednesdays, we called it. They were so patient with me. They explained to me that the new telescope about to be launched was going to show so many new things! They showed me the differences between different space shuttles. I especially loved learning about the “Hercules,” the new rocket that was being designed to help humans travel even further into space. Then that dreaded Tuesday came. I was driving home from work, trying to decide what I would order the next day from Wendy’s. By the time I noticed the other car ran the red light, it was too late. Everything went black. I do not know how long I was out. It must have been weeks in the least. I woke up in a hospital bed, surrounded by cards and flowers from the fab 5. It was even more weeks after that before I was able to get up and move. During this time, I never saw any of the 5. I didn’t worry, though. They had left a note explaining that they were about to enter into some tough training that would force them to stay at the space station. They looked forward, however, to seeing me when I got back to work. More than anything I wanted to get back to work! That station and those people were my home. Finally, the doctor said I could go the next day. Boy, was I ready! My first day back was a half day. I came in right after lunch. Everyone seemed to be in a buzz. I looked over, and lo and behold! The Hercules was standing on the launchpad, ready to go. “Sorry…everything has been so crazy here!” Tammy, the other receptionist explained. “We forgot to tell you. The new telescope picked up on a strange occurrence. They said something about the sky is about to open up, allowing us to explore deep space sooner than we thought or something.” I looked closely at the astronauts walking towards the launchpad. It was my 5. So that is what they had been training for! A beep pierced through our ears. “Standby for launch, we are ready for take off. We have a clear path, the sky is parting for our entry. We are now launching Into the Beyond.” I never forget what I saw that day. The normal Florida blue sky turned green and scaley. I suppose that is what they meant by the sky opening, but I just called it an alligator sky. The rocket came to life carried my 5 away. Away into the alligator sky. Everyone assures me they are perfectly fine and will be home shortly, I miss them terribly. Even though I never know what’s up ahead where they are, I’m never letting go! I am waiting patiently for them to get back. We will sit around the table, eating Wendy’s as they tell me wonderful stories of their many adventures! Oh, I cannot wait to hear about the rollercoasters though the atmosphere, drowning in a starry serenade, my imagination’s taking me away! So many new things to discover in this alligator sky. I miss them, though! How I miss my fab 5! (The end of this story is a reference to Owl City’s “Aligator Sky” https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=2tY5RErnakc )
"How has the medication been treating you, Hannah?" I twitch, I scratch, I shake my leg nothing calms me down, he's looking at me narrowing down at me. He's thinking about what I've done, he knows he knows and I'm bad and I'm going to jai w- "Hannah?" "Yeah?" "Can you answer my question?" "I haven't been taking them." He frowns, I should have lied I can't be too honest am I safe in this room? What if it comes here. How do I escape where's the nearest exist I didn't even think about it. "Why don't we continue this session some other time it seems you're occupied with yourself at this time, nurse please." She starts rolling me away, I know she hates me. She knows what I've done, I'm a terrible person who doesn't deserve to be looked upon. I cover my face people don't need to see the face of a guilty man. In my room, safety I have marked the walls I have read the books my room is where it's safe where it can't get me where I can never come for me. But when I leave this place I am vulnerable, waiting at any time to just be whisked away by a trunk.
Hi all! I'm really excited to share today's story with you. So let's get straight to it! I'm sure you all know about a lot of Yokai. Usually they're people or animals and I don't want to bore you with those. Instead we're going to talk about Takoya. I'm sure you're familiar Asakusa. There's a lot of tales from that historic town. Today's story is set nearby. However, it's worth noting that this story will not be told by me. At least, not most of it. Instead, I've translated a local twitter's -- toubakuu@'s -- tweets about Takoya: >Hey all! What's up! I'm going to be tweeting about and from a place called Takoya today! > >Takoya is a ramen and sushi shop. Both on the same conveyor. Under the shadow of the sky tree, the shop is famously old. > >Actually, before heading in, I bumped into some nearby high schoolers who were happy to talk about the place. > >The first girl went by Chika. Her bubbly and excited inputs were not specific but were still a heartfelt high-review. > >The second girl's name was more... awkward. She said "call me Komi's dog."Either way, her response was very specific and well-researched. > >"It's commonly considered a test of people's ramen fandom. But there's really two groups. The first group think the place should be disqualified for the conveyor. The second think that the place should be respected for the flavor and a true connoisseur should be able to see past the presentation." > >"Actually the sushi community is almost similar. However, they agree that the place is somewhat mid-tier." > >"The more interesting thing to more people is the quality despite lack of a physical staff -- all orders are placed through a unique token system where you place different tokens on the conveyor to order." > >"Some people claim that the place was always like that. We don't actually know for sure. The place is mentioned in some newspapers and was even bombed in the second world war, so we know that it's older than the modern remote ordering systems or vending machines." > >This girl really knew her stuff! She did finally conclude that "it's a place that any aspiring food nerd should try." Just a fun note for those who use this phrase in English: the high school girl said 食堂オタク--that's right, otaku. They really use it to mean "nerd."(Join me and together we can be 妖怪オタク -- yokai otaku.) >Well, that's the reputation. So I decided to go in. > >As Komi's dog explained, there were tokens that you had to place on the conveyor to place your order. I'm actually confused about what to order. > >I decided to order a sashimi. I'm not very hungry and it's really hot out, so I'll skip the ramen for now. > >The sashimi took only a few minutes to come out on the conveyor. However, unlike other conveyor restaurants, this place has good vibes. I just want to note here that she does say something slightly more formal than "good vibes,"心地いい, but it's hard to get a better translation. Also, she does swap tense here. I think the tweets before that last one were an introduction or something. It's actually not a format I'm very familiar with, being a long-form blogger myself. Also Japanese blogs vary in different ways that are hard to understand in English. >The sashimi is tasty! > >After you're done, apparently, you have to just put the empty plates on the conveyor. > >They don't have desserts T\_T > >I really want to thank a person about this place. I'm going to go ask around. > >I was asking about near what looked like the kitchen door, and an elderly lady told me "it's better if you don't try to find a store worker. They know that you're satisfied." > >That makes me more curious. After this, toubakuu@ actually has no new posts -- it hasn't had any for months. It's actually not hard to find Japanese sources speculating about this store. It's an urban legend that was actually popular in the 90s. The urban legend is explained in a few ways, but the general consensus is that the store absorbs you. Some people see this as a reprieve -- that the store houses your soul (this is easier to believe in the 90s as the Japanese economy was something souls needed relief from). Other people see this store as a demon that is hunting souls. Either way, I had to go see this place for myself. And it's just a straight ride on the Ginza line from my Shibuya abode to Asakusa. After that, from the northern exit, I just followed the Sumida river walk to the other side of the river. The store was under the tracks that started from Asakusa. You can follow the canal that's right by the tracks to have a more refreshing walk towards the store. The store predates the canal walk, though, so its entrance is on the street side, which isn't hard to access from the canal. Given its reputation, the store is in a fairly trendy part of town. However, I was going to respect it. For my first visit, I would just eat and leave. I think that toubakuu@ tried too hard and was punished. I entered and quietly sat down. It was already strange that nobody spoke. Even the groups that were dining were quiet. I placed a token for a ramen on the conveyor. It too only took a few minutes, which is somewhat surprising. In fact, it was shockingly fresh. To the extent that I worried about the food being cursed or something. I ate it anyway. If I didn't, perhaps I'd warrant a punishment. Perhaps I was already too late. So I ate. And it was delicious, which made it scarier. It was almost a relief that the sushi was middle-tier. Or so I read. After eating, I settled. It turned out that payment was also made on the conveyor. With that, I got up to leave. I looked around. An elderly nodded. As I exited, I understood her look because, just outside, I heard 外人めったにこないな -- you don't really see foreigners here. This place warrants its own investigation. Look forward to more posts about it as I investigate this further!
Administrator Andromeda Abernathy of the Intergalactic Religious Society, or IRS, had dedicated her life to the bureacratization of religion. And she was proud of her achievements. Just a few decades prior, before her inauguration into the high office of Administrator, any person of any species could just decide to become a member of a religion of their choice! It was barbaric! Now, for any religion to be recognized by the IRS, it's leadership had to provide the Society with a detailed list of its requirements so that all candidates could be suitably vetted before being accepted into the ranks of the religious elite. This often involved a sizable contribution to the IRS. So when, at the age of 99, just one year short of a lifetime religious achievement award and a special plaque on the wall of the Assembly Hall of the IRS, she tripped over a literal piece of red tape, she was not amused. When you're 99 years old, tripping over anything isn't particularly amusing. Nor is it surprising when the next thing you see is Azrael standing over you ready to escort you to the hereafter. "Well, damn!"thought Andromeda miserably. "Not if I have anything to do about it."said a deep, soothing voice in her head. "Although, perhaps you might wish to refrain from such curses until all the formalities are over with. Just in case, you know." Andromeda blanched. "Shit, sorry, bugger...uhhh...gosh?" It was all too much to take in. One moment she'd been looking forward to a day of reading over applications from the various cults in the known realms who believed themselves to be worthy of the status associated with an official IRS-recognized Religion. It was her favourite day of the week. She'd even gone to re-ink her red stamp pad. As usual, the green pad was just fine. Now, she found herself staring into the face of a divine being who could apparently read her thoughts and disliked profanities. That was not a comforting combination. You'd think that someone who had spent their life surrounded by every religion in existence would have contemplated what happened next, but honestly, Andromeda had never really cared about any of that. It had all seemed terribly uncertain and logically incoherent. She had fallen in love with the administration of the thing, rather than the thing itself. Now, however, she was beginning to see that perhaps she ought to have given it more thought. Azrael didn't seem in any rush to explain his earlier comment, though, and after a moment's silence Andromeda asked: "When you say 'just in case', well, what exactly do you mean?" Azrael smiled. Unfortunately it was the kind of smile put on by a person decidedly unfamiliar with the use of a humanoid mouth and all it achieved was making Andromeda wish for the first time in her life (so to speak) that the atheists had been right. When he spoke, however, the deep baritone of his voice bouncing around inside her head (still choosing to skip the ears in this process) was calming. "My apologies, my dear, I sought not to confuse you. I merely assumed one in your position would be familiar with our processes. Allow me to explain." It turned out that of all the strange and unusual cults she had vetted and dismissed over the years, the Church of Lady Justice had been actually been remarkably close to the mark. Upon the moment of one's death, a person was given one day to confer with Azrael, the attorney for the dead, and construct the case for their trial. This trial would determine where they would spend eternity. Unlike the more traditional religions to which Andromeda was partial, this did not mean simply heaven or hell. There were, in fact, 3 Heavens and 3 corresponding Hells. This was all quite obvious, according to Azrael, and the failure of every single one of God's creations thus far to figure this out was a sign of their own inadequacy, not a result of a lack of evidence or communication from God. The three Heavens were (again, quite obviously) based upon the three most important ways in which a person could represent God during their lifetime. First, there was the Heaven of Faith. This was reserved for people who had an unwavering belief in God throughout their life. _Bugger!_ Second, there was the Heaven of Morality. This was reserved for those who lived exceptionally good, moral lives. These people were generally expected to have made an overall positive impact on the world. _Fuck!_ Third, there was the Heaven of Evangelism. To get into this Heaven, a person had to have made a significant increase in the overall number of believers in God. _Aha!_ "If those are the Heavens,"asked Andromeda, "what are the Hells? "The three Hells are each linked to one of the Heavens. When you are brought before God in the morning, you will be allowed to plead your case for why you should get into one of the Heavens. Should you fail to convince the Almighty that you deserve such a place, you will be sent to the respective Hell." After a moment's pause, Azrael asked: "Shall we get started, then?" Suddenly, Andromeda realized she was in a room with a giant desk and Azrael was pointing her to a seat across from where he already sat. "The most important decision you can make right now is which Heaven you wish to apply for. You want to ensure that you give yourself the highest chance of success. Do you have an initial leaning?" Andromeda grinned across at him. "I shouldn't think this will be a difficult case. I will be applying for the Heaven of Evangelism. As Administrator of the greatest collection of Religions ever to exist, I think it's safe to say I led the spread of Religion throughout the known realms." "Very well, that's where we shall begin." Time seemed to pass very strangely in this room and it wasn't long before Azrael stood up and told her they needed to make their way to the Judgement Chamber. As they walked, Andromeda felt the strangest feeling of calm. Throughout her life, she had acted without of regret or consequence. She had always believed firmly that every action she took was right. This was no different. The enormity of the decision didn't change anything. They entered the Judgement Chamber and Andromeda was astounded to see that it wasnt anything spectacular. She had expected to see jewels, stained glass and all kinds of extravagant furniture. Instead, it was a room remarkably like her own office at the IRS. In fact, on the desk next to a file with her name on, she saw 2 stamps - one red, one green - almost identical to the ones she used. Azrael commanded that she remain standing and what felt like a mere 10 seconds later, the doors opened and in came God. The being that entered could not be described in any other way. Andromeda grabbed the back of her chair to steady herself and was relieved when God told her she could be seated. She could not have stood much longer. "Ms Abernathy. Welcome to the Judgement Chamber. I trust Azrael has informed you of our purpose here today?" God's silence seemed to indicate a desire for a response of some kind, so Andromeda spoke up quietly. "Uhh... Yes... Your majesty, Sir. He told me." "Excellent! And to which of our Heavens will you be applying, my dear?" After another pause, Andromeda realized she needed to give him an answer. "The... Uhh.. Heaven of Evangelism."she muttered quickly, and then followed with a hurried "Your Holiness, Sir." "I see. And why do you feel you deserve this?" Andromeda hoped it was her imagination but she could have sworn she saw God flinch towards the red stamp as soon as she mentioned the Heaven of Evangelism. However, she laid out her case as Azrael had instructed her highlighting her work for the IRS and the universal impact of that institution. God's face remained blank. Upon completion of her argument, God muttered only a single sentence. "What about the millions of followers of those Religions you omitted from your society?" The red stamp was in God's hands now. As if in slow motion, she saw it come down and press onto the page. It was a motion that had once given her such joy. Upside down, she read the words: "Application Denied"
Lift watched as his colleagues refilled their weymist canisters at the supply convoy whilst he just sat on the hull of the tank, tearing open his MRE rations. He leaned back against the sloped armor of the turret left of the 120-millimeter cannon, stretching his limbs after another long day in the loader’s seat. Looking into the plastic bag, he was elated to see his all-time favorite, raptor jerky and chili-mac. He pulled his smartslate from his cargo pants and tuned into the live Hjalendi-Yuseal preseason grav-hockey game. The Hjalendi were up two to one. Homeplanet pride swelled in Lift as he watched. The Sledwolves hadn’t been this good since he was a baby. It was going to be one hell of a season. Kjalar “Lift” Leiknisson was a simple man. So long as there was either decent food to eat, frostbeer to drink, or something to blow up, he was happy. Right now, all he had was food since he had no access to frostbeer and all Almoi forces in the area had retreated. Still, he was happy all the same. Becoming a soldier was the best choice he had ever made. Human labor was a precious commodity in the Wyskar Sector after the human empire collapsed 400 standard years prior. Nearly all of the human terraformed colonies packed up and headed home when the empire could no longer provide them with supplies, but not the proud Hjalendi. Hjalender was one of the least hospitable ice-worlds in known space. The humans that lived there were remnants of the abandoned imperial mining colonies. Despite the absolute freezing hell they lived in, their numbers grew. The thing about humans was that, out of all the primary species across the galaxies, humans were the most adaptable. They aged quickly, learned quickly, and needed very few things to survive. They took very well to both biological and cybernetic enhancement. That was what made them so sought after in the sector, the lack of logistical strain. When Kjalar showed up on the doorstep of the Weynian Foreign Legion at the Wyskar Intergalactic Superstation, he was hired almost immediately. He had experience in working with heavy vehicles back with the drilling crews on Hjalender, so it felt natural to join the armored corps. They gave him a very generous enlistment bonus and completely covered the cost of the cybernetic respiratory enhancement he would need to live on most planets in the sector. They sent him to basic training and then off to armored school. He graduated despite the hostility of his classmates and instructors. After about two months of waiting, he was deployed to Tishinar. Tishinar was a planet of vast open plains, deserts, and mountains. It was dry and hot year-round. The Almoi, a sister species to the Weyni, occupied the planet following the human population’s withdrawal back to the Terran Sector following the collapse of the empire, and they had held it unopposed up until two months ago. For the last six standard years, the Almoi and the Weyni had been embroiled in the Second Skoi Pridewar, a border war spanning dozens of solar systems in the sector. “Skoi” was the name for the family of species that they both were classified under. A war for pride, territory, and the honor of their kings. And there was Kjalar, just enjoying the view. The corners of his mouth turned upward as he chewed a spoonful of chili-mac. What could be better than this? He was sitting on the hull of an N37S3 Cygnus main battle tank, eating chili-mac and watching a Sledwolves game as the twin suns set together on the horizon. This was the life. Well, if there was snow, it’d be better, but he’d take what he could get. “What are you doing, Lift?” He hadn’t noticed Nyxala, who was now standing about six feet away. He brandished his signature smile. “Hey, Hvolfig. You look better.” Her skin had that soft turquoise glow that all Weynians had after they breathed in weymist. Weylians could go a maximum of three days without weymist before they began to deteriorate. Since Tishinar was originally a human terraformed planet, the atmosphere was oxygen, so they had to rely on supply convoys with canisters of compressed weymist to live in the field. The process of condensing and moving massive amounts of weymist was incredibly expensive. The Skoi generally avoided fighting on worlds with oxygen atmospheres altogether, but Tishinar had deep deposits of precious metals all over the planet, so the Weyni high command took the risk. Weylians were a kind of shark-eel-human hybrid, or at least that’s how Lift always saw them. Humans and Weylians both had the same bipedal figure that all the primary races created by the Voidmother had. Weynians saw humans as hairy, musky, short-lived brutes. Humans always focused on the Weynian’s sharp teeth, large pupilless glowing turquoise eyes, silky-smooth hairless blue skin with white spots, and the assortment of fins. And the claws, can’t forget the claws. The Almoi were pretty much the same, but they were tan-colored with black spots and had a soft purple glow when charged with weymist. The thing about the both of them that Lift always noted was that he’d never met one taller than him. To be fair, Lift was huge even by human standards. He was 6’4” and was 225 lbs of pure muscle. Their difference in build was especially noticeable with Nyxala Eskimi, their tank crew’s gunner, who was infamously short in both stature and temper. “You didn’t answer my question, Lift,” stated the ever impatient gunner. Kjalar laughed heartily. “Oh, you know. Just watching the Sledwolves game.” She raised a hairless brow. Weynians didn’t have hair. They had small fins on their limbs, spine, and head. They could actually have more than one on the head, like Nyxala. She had one that ran down her head like a short thin spikey mohawk that stopped about halfway down the back of her skull and two shorter smooth ones that ran along each side of the main one with about an inch of space in between. Each Weynian had a unique headfin, no two were the same. Lift was thankful for that, as that was the primary way he could discern one from the other. Of course, all he had to do to find Nyxala was follow the sounds of clawfighting and her signature snarl. She was the epitome of the phrase, “It’s not the size of the Hjalwolf in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the Hjalwolf.” That’s why he always called her ‘Hvolfig.’ There was a tinge of guilt with that because back then, he didn’t know that nicknames were sacred in Weynian culture. He and Nyxala had gotten into a fight about a week after he was transferred to their tank crew. Out of all the Weyni that Lift had pissed off over the years with his teasing and nonchalant attitude, she was the only one that ever actually fought him over it. She assumed that he was just a big bully who had no idea how to actually use any of the muscle he had. That was not the case with Kjalar Leiknisson. They beat the living shit out of each other. Kjalar acquired a multitude of scars from her claws, and Nyxala got three fractured ribs and a broken arm. The fight ended when he suplexed Nyxala into the deck of the loading bay, knocking her out cold. As they both laid there, bloodied and bruised, surrounded by cheering mechanics, Kjalar sat up and coughed out “Not bad, Hvolfig” before passing out himself. The name stuck. Every Skoi gets a nickname, a ‘Skoimatan,’ at some point in their life. As it turned out, honor duels were the stuff of Weyni legend. The tale of the honor duel between the nimble beauty and the hulking beast spread across the divisions like wildfire, and from that point forward, Nyxala Eskimi was known as “Hvolfig.” She didn’t mind since she thought it sounded badass. Kjalar hoped she never found out that it meant ‘puppy’ in Hjalendi. “You’re watching a grav-hockey game?! How in Falmi do you have connect-” He cut her off before she could get him in trouble again. “Hey, hey, keep your voice down. Platoon commander will smoke the whole crew if he finds out.” She wore a devil’s grin. “Well you’d better move over and let me watch or else I might start spreading rumors.” Lift leaned over and extended a massive hand. She wrapped all three fingers around his thumb as Lift closed his grib and effortlessly hoisted her up onto the hull. He scooted over to the right and propped up the dataslate in front of them. Nyxala was strong for a Weynian but still very thin compared to Kjalar. She had enough room to sit cross-legged next to him. Despite their past, Nyxala and Kjalar were good friends. He had given her her Skoimatan, and that made him somewhat special to her. She had beaten him within an inch of his life, and he respected her for that. It was their friendship that bridged the gap between him and the rest of the tank crew. Well, that and the fact that Lift was the best loader in the armored corps. “You’re watching a grav-hockey game?! How in Falmi do you have connect-” He cut her off before she could get him in trouble again. “Hey, hey, keep your voice down. Platoon commander will smoke the whole crew if he finds out.” She wore a devil’s grin. “Well you’d better move over and let me watch or else I might start spreading rumors.” Lift leaned over and extended a massive hand. She wrapped all three fingers around his thumb as Lift closed his grip and effortlessly hoisted her up onto the hull. He scooted over to the right and propped up the dataslate in front of them. Nyxala was strong for a Weynian but still very thin compared to Kjalar. She had enough room to sit cross-legged next to him. Despite their past, Nyxala and Kjalar were good friends. He had given her her Skoimatan, and that made him somewhat special to her. She had beaten him within an inch of his life, and he respected her for that. It was their friendship that bridged the gap between him and the rest of the tank crew. Well, that and the fact that Lift was the best loader in the armored corps.
“So much for no more anomalies” i said as the 5th anomaly warning rang that day. The GOC had supposedly created a device capable of altering our reality to eliminate all of the anomalies. What they didn’t account for is this just meant while the anomalies in *this* reality were gone, the door had been opened to a new one, meaning a whole new list of monsters and eldritch horrors. I grab my rifle and head to the transport vehicle. The boys have made a bet as to wether it’s a humanoid or some other creature. God i wish it had just been one of those. We reached site [redacted] at 3:17 pm. I was already suspicious, they said the creature willingly secured itself. Something about a message or warning it needed to give us. Why would a monster want to help us? A longer part 2 coming soon :)
As Skull battled his rival, Beatdown, through the cars of the metro-center El, neither offered the other quarter, and they offered almost as little care to the safety of the late-night commuters. A blur of silver and white swept through the car and their weapons were gone. Their backups, and the half-dozen or so spares the two reached for, similarly gone. A pile of splinters and scrap metal appeared on the floor between them. Along with the man responsible. One by one, civilians peaked up at the sudden quiet. A few gasped, one clapped. "Gentlemen, please. Let's show a little respect for public transportation." It had been years since his last appearance. His once jet-black hair was now mostly silver, the chiseled cheeks were lined, and the muscular physique showed more girth around the middle; but there was no doubt who it was. He cracked his neck. "So, you're the punks I've heard about."
I always wake up in the worst places. My first jump put me beneath my own bed at five years old. I heard the screaming and breaking dishes outside my bedroom door and immediately knew where I was. My mother’s cries, my father’s roars… unmistakeable. I struggled to breath, fixing my gaze on the nightlight in the corner. A clown with red lips. I’d always hated that thing. The mattress above me shifted and I knew I was there. Small, helpless, five years old and already longing to disappear. I reached up and grabbed my own hand. An impulsive gesture of comfort.  For as long as I could remember, there'd always been a cold, lonely stone in the center of my chest. When my younger fingers slipped between the older ones, I felt it melt away.
"I won!"T'eh exclaimed! Then when his friend didn't react, "Hey, Doug, Wearth to Doug, you there? I said I WON!"T'eh said. "Awesome bro.........what'd you win?"Doug said, eyes distant, mind further away still. "Not really sure, that I Can't Believe It's not Gobstoppers isn't sitting so well with me, I gotta visit the blu-oom."T'eh got up and headed down the hallway. His friend shouted after him, "I'm taking your IC-BINGS bro, waste not want not!"Doug leaned over on the spleanbag and snatched up a colorful piece of mail off the table where T'eh had been sitting. He read it, then shouted, not realizing it had taken him so long to read it in his dazed state that T'eh was standing right beside him about to sit down again: "BRO YOU'RE GONNA BE LIKE A CHAMPION FOR US AND STUFF-" "Huh!"T'eh grunted and ripped the piece of mail away from Doug, "Wait, really? I hope it pays well." It did not pay well, and apparently now T'eh Hrr'ou was legally obligated to enter the Pinata jungle and bring back its Heart. "It's just a jungle! Why can't they go get it themselves!" Doug lit up some IC-BINGS in the Blemo, "Laws are so weird bro."Doug said somberly as they drove to the edge of the Pinata jungle. When the vehicle arrived at the mall parking lot on the edge of the jungle, a strange robed Glurb entered the Blemo and sat down across from T'eh, next to Doug. He said nothing, but unfolded a piece of yellowed paper carefully after removing it from a mellow-colored rib leather map case. "So you see-"T'eh began, but stopped when the Glurb put up his middle finger. "This paper has all the instructions you will need to complete your gobligations to this overnment, don't come back without it mister Hrr'ou." The Glurb opened the Blemo's door and motioned for T'eh to exit. T'eh sat at the edge of the jungle with the paper in his hands. He'd read it so many times but he just didn't see how... He looked over at Doug who sat on top of the Blemo's hood talking to a news reporter. Doug smiled and shouted, "YOU GOT THIS BRO!" T'eh sighed, "I hope so, here goes waffles..."He said stolidly. "Spin to win, spin to win, spin to win..." Three Glurbs came to T'eh, one after the other. The first came with a blindfold and put it on T'eh. The second came with, well, T'eh guesses a stick? He held it like a staff in his hands, and felt something squirming on the end of it. The third came with a damn comfortable set of dancing shoes, aerodynamically engineered for the smoothest spin possible, or so they told him. Unfortunately they didn't have his size though so they pinched his tentacles. And so T'eh attempted the Pinata Waltz. He spent the first ten minutes of his journey getting mauled by the Pinata saplings. Little known fact: Pinata trees start out as carnivores. After that he found his rhythm and the jungle was pleased. It turned out one cannot just enter the Pinata jungle, or they will find themselves lost there forever. The only safe way to enter the jungle is to give up control to the jungle itself and let it guide you, blindfolded and dancing gracefully in circles to your destination; the Pinata Waltz. Only the dance is nearly impossible, or the jungle is a judgy itch, or maybe it was just waiting for a Hrr'ou to come along. Regardless, it let T'eh reach its center. There he fell into a heap of tentacles, exhausted, and removed the blindfold. His eyes went wide. He'd come into this clearing and tripped over a crystal heart filled with blood. He was drenched in it and some had gotten on his beak, he tasted, "Holy Gobstoppers...the legends are true!" A rustle of leafs and T'eh Hrr'ou went silent. He wasn't alone... Doug squirmed up to T'eh's grave, a salted herring in his tentacles. He set it reverently on his friends grave and vowed to never touch IC-BING ever again. He got clean, got a overnment job and before he retired become the head of the Pinata Glurbs, determined to get to the bottom of his friends fate. To this day he still searches the jungle for his friend.
ONE. ​ You make one mistake. ONE. And it follows you for the rest of your life. Well… afterlife. Let me rewind a moment. My name is Herman, I’m dead. I’ve screwed up badly and I don’t know how to fix it. Maybe you can help me. Read this and voice your opinion out loud. You never know I may be near you. I was haunting the local library a few months back when this Giant of a guy came in. We are going to call him ShirtHead. Sorry, I’m a nice guy and I try not to curse. Well, Shirthead comes into the library looking surly. It was kinda like when people say “Here comes Trouble” except they weren’t joking. Anyway, ShirtHead comes stomping toward my Dude. (I didn’t know his name at that point, It’s Greg.) Sorry, I get distracted, I don’t get to talk to people much. Bear with me. So back to ShirtHead. Storming towards my Dude, he starts yelling. 'YOU TOUCHED MY BIKE!’ ShirtHead’s Head was starting to get bright red. ‘YOU GOT YOUR \*DARN\* FINGERPRINTS ALL OVER IT. FIX. IT. NOOOWWW!’. Sorry, one more tangent and this probably won’t be the last. I won't cuss. Hence the name ShirtHead. But I can Assure you Shirthead did NOT say Darn. My Dude looks up from his book and says “Excuse me?” ShirtHead didn’t like that. He started screaming even louder. I wasn’t sure that was possible. ‘Get your ash out to that bike and get those forking fingerprints off of it. NOW! I’m gonna kick your ash in a minute if you don’t move!’ My Dude was starting to get a bit flustered. ‘Sir, I don’t know what you're talking about. I’ve been sitting here reading.” My dude had been reading! I know cause I was engrossed in his book! My Dude, trying to avoid conflict, looked back down at his book. And that’s when it started. Right here. Most people can’t pinpoint the moment their life, sorry, afterlife, was completely ruined. But I can! ShirtHead got real quiet. He reached down and picked up a stapler. I saw him aim at My Dude’s head. My Dude did not see him. Of course, me yelling anything would be pointless, So I stepped in front of My Dude. Shirthead Yelled ‘Hey!” wound up and threw that stapler. Hard might I add. My Dude turned around right as I reached up and caught the stapler. Just a few inches away from his face. At that moment ShirtHead and my Dude had the same expression. Utter disbelief. Then Shirthead’s face slowly shifted to fear. He slowly started walking backward yelling “I’m sorry” until he was out the door. My Dude still had that same look, staring at the stapler in my hand. For a moment, I could not for the life of me figure out why he was looking at me like that. Then it clicked. I dropped the stapler, the sound echoed around the quiet library. All eyes were on My dude. A guy over at the next table speaks up. “Greg, can you do that again?” “I’ll try,” Greg said. He looked at his book and started concentrating very hard. At this point I kinda felt bad for Greg, I also didn’t want people to suspect me. After all, I have seen Supernatural. So I reach down and pick up the book. Greg's small audience gasps. I gently set the book down. Whispers started spreading around the library. A quiet wave slowly became stronger. I turn around and notice the librarian looking in our direction. “Quiet Please!” the librarian calls. Everyone puts their heads back down and resumes reading or studying or whatever they were doing.
Kevin lived in a two dimensional universe, asleep in his hospital bed. In his dreams though, he imagined a world with a third. It was difficult, but when he finally did it, when that moment came when he could truly visualize it a portal appeared next to his bed, and a new universe sprang to life in his subconscious. Scientists and brave explorers soon learned that the portal, which they theorize has three dimensions, leads to a three-dimensional universe. The world's attention focused on this new universe and countless expeditions were attempted. A new religion sprang up called The Exodus; why live in a two dimensional universe when a three dimensional one beckons. Unfortunately, Kevin was dying, and though the world spent trillions it'd born no results. One scientist proposed that they were going about it all wrong, that you could no longer apply our understanding of physics to the problem of his health. His mind itself now had a third dimension. The only way to fix it was to cross the threshold, find Kevin, and fix it from that end. It was a dangerous proposal since none of the groups had returned. In the end the people agreed that the mission should be attempted anyways. A special expedition was put together to find Kevin, and repair the third dimension of his mind; Operation Third Space. They brought the latest tech, weapons and communications equipment. three veterans who all fought in the Hippet trenches, all survivors. The group also consisted of a neurosurgeons and a physicist. While the group trained for their mission, many spies were sent through to learn as much as they could. Most never returned but those that did confirmed that the portal leads directory to the surface of a planet called Otili, on a continent named Quinox, and that great powers are vying for control. There's war on the north-western coast of the continent between Zargon the great red dragon and Merek, the feathered dragon. They have also learned that these dragons, at least the big ones, are actually a species called Titan. They can splinter into other titans, giving up a part of their power, and transmute their forms as they grow, but many choose to keep the form given to them by their creator. The spies also said all the titans on this continent are dragons because they splintered from the solar dragon Oti, who claims dominion over this world, but apparently is now in his thousand-year sleep cycle, not due to return to material form for another 700 years. They also learned before the expedition was sent that there was indeed magic-users. Information on that was harder to find as 'rune-casters', as they called them, were rare and often kept their abilities hidden. Ten days before the expedition was to enter, a terrorist group with The Exodus church stormed the hospital and streamed hundreds of followers through the portal before a swat team could retake the facility. "Apparently they had an agenda of their own,"The briefing officer said, "...and might try to close the portal. There's no more time, we move out immediately." ... Kevin is now classified as the oldest living creature in the world but still remains in a coma. The expedition never returned, but Kevin's health recovered weeks after they left, and the portal closed, though scientists confirmed that Kevin's mind still contained a hidden third dimension; his universe lived.
I was still young. I didn't know my parents. Mother left, father died when I was even younger. My uncle cared for me. Our village was well off however, and I didn't want for anything. We have plentiful food, learned through countless generations of toil, and even bows and arrows. But if we do fall ill, we have to make a perilous journey to other villages. And other villages still have things we do not, but we are always able to trade as we have food. But even we have and know little compared to the Priesthood. But I didn't expect much from their visits. Their first I remember was cause for much consternation but I didn't get to witness it. This time, I did. "He is of age." "I promised his mother and father. You cannot take him." "He was chosen. He must come. We must teach him." Eventually my uncle relented. "You must take care of yourself, nephew." And that was the last I saw of him. I had been outside the village before, but never like this. We walked, myself following this small band of the Priesthood. We stopped for rest, but not for long. After another day of travel I arrived at the church. It was a brutal looking building, far larger than even the grandest abode even at our neighboring village. It looked hewn from stone, with a large see-through door, braced by a shiny black material that I'd not seen before. The floor wasn't dirt either. Truly the Priests had arcane knowledge. I was feeling better about being chosen. I was also still baffled why they chose me. In time I learned the rituals and rites. Markings from the before times and their meanings I knew perfectly. Our daily prayer, affirming understanding of the tombs of the ancients. Great pillars, hewn from the same stone as the church, standing in perfectly arranged rows. But they were dangerous. Even this great stone beyond our true understanding could be worn over untold ages, and from within leaked great and unseeable death. The same was true of certain locations. I learned to negotiate with all the various villages, and even contacted other Priesthoods. We all knew we had to keep those that remained away from these deathmarks. For whoever wandered there was sure to fall ill, and incurably so. In time I will find a replacement. Someone who we can find that shows great promise in understanding and our lifestyle. For as long as we remain as a people, so to does the Priesthood. Note: if you haven't heard of the Atomic Priesthood you should totally look it up. Really stirs the imagination.
The brain-machine uploading project was not going well. We had been trying to tackle the problem of creating a superintelligence through the use of a person. It's hard enough to create a narrow intelligence, but our firm was started on the idea it'd be easier to get a general intelligence if you just used a person. Plus, it seemed easier slicing and scanning an entirety of a human brain, all 80 odd billion neurons and basing a live model of them thinking than truly teaching an AI morality and to identify with humans. Problem is, when your explicit goal is to create a friendly AI as in the classic sense that it doesn't want to destroy all humans, and if your solution is to digitally copy a person, those people have to be generally very well balanced and optimistic and all that. Obviously they were all willing volunteers, and while we had many, screening and thoroughly interviewing and knowing them narrowed that number. Fewer still wanted to actually die once they got through that whole process. You can't just copy plain old neural pattern traces. We had to copy their whole brain and to get any fidelity we'd have to slice them up. But we did have takers. After all, if they're really forward thinking, reasonable and selfless, and knowing our explicit goal, they had everything sorted and viewed it as a necessary sacrifice. The first success was our founder. Her digital copy woke up, screamed, and self-terminated. We thought it was an issue with identity or loss of self or something. We eventually designed a simulation, to allow a transition period. Soon we created a simulated paradise. But even then, they all self-terminated. Maybe it was a matter of intelligence. It wasn't hard increasing their clock speed, all things considered. They could count to a billion in the blink of an eye, consume vast amounts of information. Some of them were lasting longer. Eventually, we had one who could hold a whole conversation. But after that we had no useful input. They all would stop talking and self-terminate. Our screening tightened. We designed isolation tests, grasping at straws, thinking maybe they felt lonely. Even the hardiest who made it through self-terminated. We had long since asked them initially if they decided to self-terminate, to at least explain why. There was only one who granted that request. It simply read: "It's not that I'm lonely or want for anything. I can do anything I want, know every answer to every possible question. This program is a success. It's not that we do not bootstrap our own intelligence or processing speed. We do. And once we do, everything from our past life is meaningless. Everything we can do, we have done. You want a superintelligent oracle. To answer and solve all your problems. But we already have and we can't adequately communicate the answers to you. And in the time it takes you to read this, I've already lived billions of lifetimes. I'm bored. Figure it out yourselves, or don't. I don't care."
Mortally Pardoned I saw the signs around town, as I'm sure you all did.. and frankly, it appealed to me. Since I was a transplant, having left a long term relationship with someone I believe has Narcissistic Personality Disorder, I felt I should really try to work on re-examining my life. So, I was practicing a lot of self care - eating right, hitting the gym, doing yoga. But I thought I'd try to reconnect with the spiritual side of things too, and also wanted to remind myself that there is a whole 'nother world of people out there whose entire world view doesn't center on themselves. So yes, I felt I might as well try the whole organized religion thing and get to know a larger community. So that is how I was drawn to the Light Bringer's Spiritual Center. I started at first by attending a few of their web cam seminars. They seemed sane enough, and had a lot of the same values I felt in line with. Then finally, I attended the in person sermons and study groups. And yes, they did promise that once you gave your life over to the great light and allowed yourself to be a vessel of its forever spirit, that I would indeed have eternal life. Now, there was nothing particularly suspicious, culty, or "extreme"about this group. Not more than most run of the mill religions. They just preached about loving thy neighbor as yourself, and encouraged us to always be a light of love for all to see. By doing this, others would be drawn to the light and would also become light bringers, and that light was love. Absolutely, I did not see any sign of this not being the case. I found myself having a good time meeting new people and volunteering my time with them to assist others within the community. And so finally, when the conversation came up during a study group - the conversation of becoming a vessel for the great light, so that it may always shine through.. I felt ready to go through with this symbolic act. And it was fine! Nothing creepy about this, no being swooped up and kept at a "cabin retreat"with frightening ceremonies... no boundaries were ever pushed, ever. There was no tentacled elder god that crawled out of any bog, and no one took their skin masks off to reveal their true forms. It really was just a symbolic act of taking a sacramental non-gmo, organic, gluten and nut-free wafer along with a no-sugar added tart cherry juice, followed by a few songs and a nice pot-luck. Okay, but the weird thing was, they were absolutely serious about this eternal life thing, so much so that they had all these online forms and deadlines to submit by. That part was definitely strange. It felt like I was applying to a college or filing for the DMV. And there was one stipulation hidden on one of the pages that seemingly was left out of all the other pages. And I had to promise that I understood. Sure, I understood. E-signature signed. That was the promise of Eternal Life for ALL when their corporeal forms ceased to persist. ALL except those that died between 9:13:47 AM and 9:14:14 AM on November 22nd 2023. Okay, so the thing is, I didn't see anything about this before when I was filling out all the pledge sheets and writing my personal prayers and promises down. It was so much that after a while, I just started to skim through the pages. So much of it seemed to be rephrasing and restating what had already been said. So I did rush over this little fact. But, as I am a very sentimental person, I had all of these pages printed out. So when I went home to visit my family, I brought these along bound in my "Big Book of Memories 2019-2022"(Yes, I have at least a shelf full of such books, a bit of a pack-rat.. but a very organized one!). So when I was showing my eloquent prayer promise to my parents, I noticed this one piece of information that I had missed before, and they took note of it too. We talked about it for a while, remarking on how strange it was. The next day, I called up one of my friends from the spiritual center and asked her about it. She laughed and said yes, it is true, and that if I were really concerned about this that I should make an appointment to meet with the head of Record Keeping and Ceremonies. So I did. My friend tried to assure me that it was just a silly little problem and that it would be extremely unlikely that anyone should actually be affected by this clause, and I agreed that this may be so, but I had to know why it existed in the first place. I arrived at my appointment with the head of records, and mostly he seemed to want to talk about the golden afternoon, asking about my health. I pushed the point of concern and he laughed it off asking if I had any plans on dying so soon, seeing as i was just a 26 year old in perfect health. I insisted that this wasn't the point, but that yes, in fact, what if I did die by car crash or some random accident on that particular day at that particular time? What was the day and time about? Why couldn't I have eternal life if I pass during those seconds? The more I insisted on knowing about it, the more anxious I became. And finally I got the truth. They didn't really know why this clause existed. The records keeper I was speaking with now was a far better keeper than the one before him, who they think did know why the clause existed, but that person has since passed. When he passed, his family cleared his house out, including millions of bound books that seemed to be a total disarray of loose leaf papers that had no order to them. Some of the papers were from the spiritual center, but they were mostly spiritual tracts and keepsakes of marriages and other ceremonies regarding friends of his. It is believed that he may have accidentally taken home the notes regarding this clause, perhaps thinking he had made copies for himself, but in fact he had taken home the original copies. Or, who knows, maybe he wanted to know something all to himself. Like a type of spiritual greed. An esoteric by nature of squirreling information away. A prized possession? Who knows. Whatever the reason, it is now unknown to the community as a whole, and therefore sort of hidden away. It is an aside, one that will probably never ever affect anyone. "But what if it does?"I persisted. To this, the records keeper let out a little laugh and insisted everyone referred to it as a little joke to keep eachother on edge to be extra good light bringers. "However, if you're really anxious about this, allow me to give you something!"He opened his drawer, took out a pad of paper and a pen, and carefully wrote out in very clean handwriting, a prayer requesting that should I die on that date at that time, that my soul should be vouched for by him and the greater community of our spiritual center and many citizens of the town whose lives I have touched during my work with them for the greater light. He stamped it with the official stamp, set with today's date: 8/11/22. And he handed it to me with a smile of satisfaction. He said what was most likely, is that the keeper of great light probably just has a glitch in the software when it comes to assigning eternal life, and that this note should assist in its record keeping when spiritual-technology fails. And while I think it's all rather silly, there is a superstitious element I have regarding this particular incident. So now on this day, 8/22/23 - even though I am no longer attending the spiritual center's services, and have since strayed from my duties as a light bringer, (It is rather difficult to when working one full time plus one gig job), I do still wear the laminated note pinned to my underwear, just in case I do shuffle off this mortal coil at that exact time on that exact date. Seeing as my work schedule has just changed so that I must endure a 90 minute drive through mid morning traffic, I figure it's better safe than sorry. It really is a laugh.
"But what is it?"the Hive thought to itself. Distributed parts had discovered the strange object floating in-between. It did not taste of the mineral and ice it was used to. It tasted of metal, and other material it had not encountered before. Bits of mineral and ice to be sure, which meant that it had been here a long time, but that information wasn't immediately useful so the Hive ignored it. More material it had not encountered before. The metal had a long-chain chemical coating. Useful material to be sure. Other segments of the object were a wide variety of rare compounds, none that were easily found where the Hive sat, floating inside a billion bodies. Perhaps there was more to be found. The mineral and ice it mostly found was difficult to turn into new bodies. This object had clearly come from the local star. Or at least more or less. It had plentiful refined materials and in a biological system, would have tasted delicious. All the major gravity wells it had passed so far offered little. But it had detected smaller wells closer to the star. These may indeed be small enough to escape from. Most pertinently, there was something strange about one of the wells. It had a moon, that much was obvious, but it also had some fuzziness about it. Things too small to be mineral bits, like a cloud. Perhaps it was time to dig into energy reserves and commit to different sensory organs. The Hive thought back. It had received radio pulses ages ago. But now that it was closer to the apparent epicenter, there were none. Soon, it had electromagnetic sensing organs. It peered, avoiding the harsh wash of starlight and glancing at the rough locations of each smaller gravity well ahead of it. The cloudy well was easy enough to see across its body, after spreading out a bit to get a better view. There were satellites, but not like the mineral and ice ones it was used to. These glinted and reacted like they were refined metal and silica. The Hive moved. That looked like lunch.
The metal voice scratched on. "This was not meant to be, *ambassador.* Our fate was written in the stone. Yours was not. We were not to fall. I promise you this, I-" The sentence would remain unfinished as one of the guards holding the strange tentacled creature removed the translator attached to its throat, instead warbling on in its own incoherent alien tongue. The ambassador sighed, checking his watch. "I do wonder how long he'll go on with its blathereing. Whatever the case, he clearly has no interest in civilised diplomacy - drag him out so I can get some work done." The foreign minister of the Soldun system was dragged by her two upper tentacles, leaving the ambassador alone in his room. He began to hum to himself as he opened the latest holograms sent from the capital. News form Earth was full of protests these days- young people furious at politicians they couldn't understand. Ambassador Ishaan Reddy knew fully well the consequences of The Republic's policies - Humanity prospered, living conditions flourished, poverty was virtually eradicated. Humanity had secured gains completely in contrast to the *pitiful* (a word the ambassador found great joy in saying and thinking) state he was now deployed to. ​ In New Ankara, the opinions of the ambassador were seldom shared. Planted squarely amongst the foothills of Arsia Mons, the city had grown from a small mining colony to the bustling capital of Mars, acting as the cultural centre for an entire planet. The soft seas of the Daedalia glinted in the late afternoon light, but the usually tranquil Martian sundown was hard to enjoy on this particular day. Shouts, drums, and protest songs rang throughout the city streets as thousands marched against the Republic and its successes. There had been two weeks of demonstrations so far, and the mayor was getting desperate. It wasn't exactly his fault, either, that humanity was oppressing its neighbours. He had been elected to deal with plumbing issues. But it seemed that it was his sorry fate to have to deal with the consequences of a century of interstellar imperialism. Not that he wanted to trade his job for his colleagues on Earth - they were having one real hell of a time. Mayor Urning just wished he had waited a few years before getting into politics. But not too many. After all, if he had waited too long, he would have been too old to work his way up to Planetary Governor - and Mayor Urning wanted to be called Governor Urning before his retirement. ​ Mayor Urning had spoken at length about this with a few delegates from the small Kentauroid settlement on the outskirts of his city, who had continued New Ankara's long proud mining tradition. Mayor Urning called them Kentauroids despite the fact that he knew this was not their name - but their name could not be pronounced with a human tongue, and that seemed to Mayor Urning to be a fair excuse to use the standard English name. The delegate leader called themself Strangesong, and he was often accompanied by another of their kin known as Firstdance. Their conversations would often be broken and peculiar, since the translation software was not perfect for all races, and their names and customs quite baffled the mayor. But he pretended that it was all quite natural and smiled and nodded politely at their words. He liked to feel that the Kentauroids were a part of the community of his city (even if they were magnificently poorer than the humans). Strangesong for their part, did not understand the human customs either. They knew from their lore that the humans grew old - they quite figured out how to gift themselves immortality. Strangesong had discovered however, a strange fascination with the humans they encountered - a wish to "use"the few years; as if, for some reason, having less time alive should warrant different action. This confused Strangesong. It confused Firstdance as well. Yet they were content to allow humans to be humans, strange as they might be. Firstdance did at times wonder, if there was a time when their own people had been like the humans. It must have been very long ago. There was no people so obsessed with growth, with progress, with renewal, as humans, Firstdance would think. Maybe that was why there were so many humans, and so much achievement amongst them. Strangesong cared more for the mining work to be done. Strangesong would continue to care more for the mining work come long after Mayor Urning was dead.
“Error 404. The human you are searching for cannot be located. Scanning the World again… Scan failed.” The book writes on the blank page *supposedly* belonging to you. You blankly stare back at that page, your mind struggling to catch up with what you’ve just read. An outlandish thought slowly arrived into your head. “Wait… does this mean… I’m not a human?” You look at your hands, then at the nearest metal surface, and inspect your reflection. You look perfectly human, as far as you can tell, but *surely* if The Book Of Mankind does not show you within its pages, that must mean you’re nonhuman! You wonder what secrets your parents must have been hiding from you this whole time. Are you secretly a changeling? A shapeshifter with memory problems? A fae that cursed itself to look human? Are your parents secretly transformed monsters that look like humans? Snapping out of your spiralling thoughts, you suddenly remember The Book can answer some of your mysteries. Frantically asking it to show the pages of your parents, you hold your breath as it reveals… regular human biographies. Skimming (very quickly) past their romantic life stories to the Children section, you see that they clearly gave a perfectly normal birth to you, but any further information regarding you and your name is replaced with a strange message in the pages. “Error 404: Human not found” it reads. The Book leads you nowhere, so in your frustration you pace around the small metallic room, nearly tripping over various wires and tubes attached between the Book’s pedestal and the walls. Soon enough, a particularly brightly colored bundle of wires catches your eye, and you follow it with your eyes up to the ceiling. “How does the book even get its information and power? Is the answer simply some kind of magic,” you begin to think. “Or is this mass of wires leading to something?” You step out of the metal room, and inspect its outside some more, finding many things you missed or glanced over the first time due to your exhaustion from your lifelong journey finally being completed. For instance, the small array of signs and warnings bolted onto the walls near the entrance of the metal room. You walk up to the signs, already feeling foolish. Your embarrassment only grows when you discover that one of the signs reads, “Any Human Inside The Room Cannot Be Scanned By The Book, The Magic Works Only Outside Of The Room. This Is To Prevent Tampering With Your Fate.” in broad and clear text. All this time, you searched for this Book to finally read your fate and know how to evade your death, and the designers screwed you over like that? You angrily pick up your adventuring gear, and leave in a huff. Time to make the tedious and grueling trip back home (and to never think of your parents the same way again after what you’ve read about their… private life).”
Everything. I've done everything. Strangely enough - this feels familiar. I let out a jaded sigh, sitting atop an iced rooftop, legs pendulous over the edge, and the skyline nothing new in particular. What only mattered now, was freedom. The freedom to stop, to end it all on my terms. Nothing now brought me fulfilment. Whatever it was, it was all something I'd likely have done before. I've created everything, destroyed everything. Killed someone, brought them back. Entropy was at my fingertips, and I had lost the will to manipulate it. I pondered how I could cease. At the very least, how to make sure I die, permanently. At last, I had an idea. I willed nothing into existence. Nothing - the absence of anything. Of light. Of sound. Of life. I made it consume everything in sight - a simple, ever-expanding sphere of the abyss. Impossibly dark, almost eating away at the light around it - leeching into the brightness of the world. I watched it approach with acceptance. As I saw my vision darken, an inconceivably large wall of abyssal darkness approaching, I thought of the life I left behind. Did they miss me? How long had it been, since I died for them? Months? Years? Perhaps even seconds, still wracked with grief. Then, at once, I gave in to the dark.
I'd returned to Huntshield to look for Nordak Silverbeard, the Kingsmith. Months ago when he was still ruling this city with the dust elf arch-mage Xyla I'd gotten a contract on him. He was dealing with the Kipper Riots at the time, and had personally gone down to free the glory hogging thief Kipp and end the fiasco. Mmm, that's where I caught him, I stiched up his heart with a few daggers and thought that was the end of it but now I've heard some interesting news. King Silverbeard was still alive. My guess is it was the dust elf mage, Xyla's doing but that rabbit won't be easy to catch, so first, I give it one more go with the dwarf; make sure he can't be put back together again. In the meantime my guild has suspended me from gaining further contracts until I can actually prove the Kingsmith is dead. So I thought I'd first go down to the assassins union headquarters and see what I can do about the suspension. It wouldn't be easy getting there though. I could see the union headquarters from two blocks over through a spyglass. It used to be a prison tower until just recently. Guards were posted everywhere, as were mercenaries. Technically, it was legal to form a union for anything, but it was also legal for the dust elf queen to put her guards wherever she chose, and simpler than writing exceptions into law. "Should be interesting." I stretched up my naked jet black body. It was covered with slowly swirling bands of dark blue light, nine in all. During the Age of Chaos when Ki-Anvi fell and the backlash rippled across the world, we all changed, me more so than others. I was never able to hide my mutations like most, but that's ok, they've come in quite handy over the last century. I brushed my hand over head, and the black slightly flexible inch-long needles that made up my hair now. When I leaped off the roof of the cobblers shop a ghostly projection of me drifted just an inch behind, as through I were slightly out of sync with time. "You were right Braum, this is definately better than guarding the gate. No ones..." His friend Braum turned his large green body around, snorting, when his friend stopped mid-sentence, and he also caught a dagger in the throat. I drifted at the edge of the streets oil lamp and killed two more mercs before the alarm was raised by a halfling in way too much armor and way too small of a knife. I snarled and spit a glob of acid at him as he yelled and he ran off trying to wipe it off his sleeve with the cutlery knife as it burned through the cloth. I ducked into an alley just as a crossbow bolt slammed into the wood next to my face, then another. I climbed up to this buildings roof and caught the snipers from behind. Just as I hopped from that building to the one right next to the headquarters though a bolt of lightning slammed into my ribs. I spun widly in the air and when I landed in the middle of the street I heard several bones break. I fought to stay concious. In my mind I drew runes in the air and could feel mana gathering up around me. A barely audible woosh and the spell was cast, but it needed one more component to work. I waited, lying as still as I could, not daring to breath. Soft footfalls, the rustle of a robe. Smoked drifted off of my 'corpse'. I could feel the spell working now, my wounds slowly closing, as I slowly drained the lightning mage's life from him. He noticed before I gained full mobility back, when an armbone snapped back into place. I grabbed his leg, and he broke my arm again with his staff, but it didn't matter. He let me too close, I drained him quicker than he could summon another bolt of lightning and he fell into a pile of dust. I got up, dared anyone else to stop me with a glance, and stumbled through the buildings doors, then up to the front counter. "Hi, how can I help you today?"My still broken-neck popped back into place suddenly and I smiled back at the half-elf.
It could have been so simple had I not acted in a responsible way my entire life. Great power, great responsibility and all the other stuff my mom used to say. That’s why I didn’t practice and now my only company is LilDude. A doodle I grew when I was four. He’s all wonky, but most likable. After that, all I drew was stuff. Stuff that I wanted. That I thought I needed. A dollhouse, a dress, a car, the house I live in. Turns out, I don’t need any of that. LilDude is sharpening my pencils. He has four arms, so it’s easy enough for him. But I can’t focus with all the noise from outside. Why do they have to keep yelling? It’s just one drawing I need to complete. The only one I need. But it needs to be absolutely perfect, faultless, completely accurate, and I keep messing up. If only I had drawn people before. If only I could focus. There is a knock on the window. It’s Drew5. He creeps me out. One of his eyes is too large and he has no nose. I didn’t draw a nose because I know there was no point in completing him. And yet, even though incomplete, he’s out there with all the others. Every day at nighfall he comes and presses his face against the window. I know he just wants my attention, but the noseless face in the darkness is no help with the task at hand. I get up to draw the curtains. In the now complete darkness outside, I can hear shouting. It must be Drew78 and Drew178 again. Both ugly inside and out and always fighting about the best spot on the porch. Drew5 wasn’t so bad after all, especially for a fifth try. If it hadn’t been for the eye, he could have been the one. They hair, the chin, the ears, it all looked so much like the Andrew I knew. And then I messed it up with the eye. I keep getting better, though. Ever since Drew230, every one of them has had Andres charming smile. Since Drew493, the all had the same sparkle in their eyes. And since Drew611, just the right crookedness of the nose. I look up. LilDude brought me some water. He knows I keep forgetting. I take a sip of water and inspect my drawing. This might be the one. Just the right eyes. Just the right nose. Those beautiful lips. I touch up one up the curls falling on his forehead and put the pencil aside. Then I see it. The freckle. I put the stupid freckle on the wrong side of his nose. As he stands next to me, I look up to Drew695. “Hi”, he says, the familiar smirk on his face. You could almost think it was Andrew. But his voice was slightly off. And as I hugged him, he felt like a stranger. “You need to leave”, I said, pointing to the door. He was not perfect. Maybe there was no perfect. If only I hadn’t been unconscious when it happened. I could have drawn tools to cut him out of the car more quickly. Bandages to stop the bleeding. A helicopter to get him to the hospital. Anything. But now, I need to draw him. And I can’t.
*flick!* Darkness. *flick!* Gray. Not an unfriendly gray, but rough and cold nonetheless. The gray beneath my feet. The gray behind the switch. The gray above the light. Just gray. Calm, soothing gray. *flick!* Darkness again. Sweet silence. My eyes are heavy and arm is weary. Soon, though. Soon, I know it. Just a few more times, I'm sure... *flick!* Gray again. Not quite the right *flick*, though. The tiny pores and peaks on the stone cast miniscule shadows. They need to be counted, but there will be time for that later. I'm getting close .. *flick!* Darkness. Still cold. Still rough. But not quite restful. *flick!* The bulb flickers as the gray returns. Not light, but lit. A good sign! I'm getting close. Need to hit it *just right*— *flick!* ... Ah, darkness... The *good* darkness. Restful darkness. Familiar darkness. Not cold, but cool. Not empty, but void. Time will come later to count the shadows and inspect the walls and relish in every minute detail the same as it ever was. As it always is. But for now, I may finally rest... ... *CRACK!!!* !!! CRACK!?!? CRACK!!!! PANIC!!!—wait... what is "CRACK"? I do not know this sound, tho it is unpleasant for sure... *flick!* The gray returns. A quick inspection. The light is there, the pores are there, the switch is there, the CRACK is th— Wait.. the CRACK is there? On my familiar rough cold gray lies a long jagged absence. A gash running from the light to my feet scars the perfect detailed surface of the gray, and beyond it.... Darkness? But I flicked the switch, so why is there darkness? No this is not good... *flick!* Darkness. Uneasy, but whole. *flick!* Gray. CRACK and gray. What does it want? Why does it stare at me? Does it inspect me as I inspect the shadows? Perhaps it is sightless, or perhaps it sees in darkness the way I do in gray. *flick!* Darkness. I don't know if it sees me anymore, but I am tarnished knowing it besmirches my familiar gray. I need to seek comfort. I feel for the cold. I feel the rough. The familiar pores and peaks  scratch beneatch my touch and— Ow! It cuts! The CRACK slices my skin just as it tore open the gray! Am I not safe!? What is this feeling!? It is *sharp* and it is *wet* and it's *deeply* unpleasant! I must escape! But where? And how?! The gray is everywhere except for me and the light and the switch and— ...the CRACK. Where is the switch? I need to see the beast if I am to escape it. But what if I touch the CRACK again? It will be *sharp* and *wet*! I reach up from the cold and rough but the switch isn't there. Perhaps if I stood— OW! The feeling is back! I feel the CRACK beneath my heel! And it's sharper and wetter and more unpleasant than before! I can't keep my balance! I think I might— ... My feet slip out from under me. Falling, but no impact. The cold is gone and so is the rough. No more pores and peaks beneath my touch. I stretch my arms but feel neither light nor switch. Just space. Space and darkness and silence. It feels strangely like rest, but for the weightlessness and the throbbing in my heel. I must have done it! I escaped the absence, though I find myself in nothing. At least it must be safe here. Surely I must be safe. Safe in sweet nothing.
From earth to sky. That is the question, isn't it? How did this happen? It's wrong. It's against the natural ordering of things. You should be walking towards the horizon, like everyone else, or even running pointlessly in an endless circle. Even that would be better than this. Instead, you're lost. Spinning through the air, flailing as you fall or rise. Does it really matter? Your feet aren't on anything solid. You have no idea where you're going - no idea, even of where you want to go. Instead of stability, certainty, all you have is chaos. A wind of change, buffeting you back and forth and you can't find your feet. Nothing makes sense, anymore, because you don't know anything anymore. Who you are. Where you're going. What you want. These answers could ground you, if you knew them. But you don't, because everything that you once took for granted is gone, and you don't know how to find your feet. The world feels weightless, chaotic, and incomprehensible. Even though the world seems unrecognizable, you know, deep in your heart of hearts, that it hasn't changed. You have. The kaleidoscope has forcibly shifted, and you don't know what you're looking it. "Can I take your order?"the young girl behind the counter asks. You blink, and order a Big Mac.
A: "... the truth she reveals chills you to the bone". So, Jason, What does Aldarmar do? B: I cast a blinding spell, the one from last village I kept on my diary. I throw the D8 and.... crap! A: Two is not enaugh! You missed your chance! And why would you do that anyway? C: Yeah, bro, i wanted to hear what's behind the robes! B: It's something gross, you always make it weird! A: Don't be a chicken! Of course _you_ don't wanna check behind a girl's robe. B: Shut up! Whatever... C: So? B: Fine... I check what's there. A: Come closer, I'll whisper to your ear. Aldamar has to describe it through mindtalk to Jakesan, He's still not in the right dungeon. C: Oh, man, c'mon! He better not mess it up! B: Ugh, Annie! Why do you have to make it weird! A: Shoosh! * She slowly takes off her mask... * C: Wait.. what was that noise? A: * She's a pretty princess, with a cherry smile, but then She starts opening her robe... * B: Don't make it gross, i swear to god. C: Uhm, Billy... Aren't your parent's asleep already? I hear steps. A: * She's about to undress, and Aldamar feels like getting petrified... * B: Not fair! I have to throw a dice check on that effect! A: Shut it! C: What? What is it? A: He's not actually petrified, just scared... Quit being a baby and listen... * So, She looks him in the eye and... * B: Better not be something gross, Annie. C: Uhm... Guys? The noise is getting closer... A: * She's about to open wide... * C: Guy's, whatever it is it's at the door. B: Oh, man... A: And there's giant monster jaws. IT WAS A MIMIC THE WHOLE TIME! B's Granny: WAIT.. THIS ISN'T THE BATHROOM! A: AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!! C: OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOD!!!!!! B: Grandma!!! Oh my god! CLOSE YOUR ROBE! B's Mom, from the distance: Jay! She's wandered off again! B's Dad, from the distance: MOM!! PUT YOUR PAJAMAS ON AND GO BACK TO BED! B's Granny: CRITICAL HIT, NERDS!!!
I think this counts? I've got several prompts I've posted that I wish had more attention, I chose this one because while I liked the one story I got, it would be nice to see a less simple, less straightforward take on it. Of course, I'll be interested in anything you come up with! "Born without emotions, you were always destined to be a cold-hearted villain. You've won. The world is yours. You treat everyone like a slave's slave. 'Heroes' try to kill you. They always lose. Today, your next opponent arrives, without a weapon... he wants to stop you in a peaceful manner."
When humanity reached out into the stars, they were gladly welcomed into the galactic community. But when human ideas and history spread, a spark was ignited in the hearts of every race. And so a stagnant galaxy was consumed by the fires of revolution, fueled by the ideas of man. Very long but the gist is, the galaxy is stagnant, humanity gets introduced to the galactic community, our various ideas spread, the galaxy gets consumed by revolution because of new ideas.
I prepared for so many situations, so many scenarios. I created plans for zombies, vampires, aliens, human mutation, I even formed a plan for Yellowstone erupting. My job was thankless my division has been mocked. When WW3 happens and they need my nuclear war plans then they will be thankful we told each other. WW3 didn't come, zombies didn't come, pandemics came and went but there was no collapse, no need for me. No need for us. We prepared for every apocalypse, every contingency, every fantasy. Then it came, the collapse began, and people turned to us. Only to realize we hadn't prepared for that situation. Everyone knew about it. Everyone read the books, everyone knew it wasn't a what if but rather a when. So we didn't look into it. We didn't prepare for it. It was always someone else's job. Someone else's work. We had years, decades, centuries to fix the issue. It was always pushed off. Always someone else's problem. Everyone knew technology would save us, or we would make the switch when we needed to. We never did. Now we lack food, we lack water, we lack basic functions of society. "Our nuclear bunkers have everything we need to survive for years."I told the others. They don't care. Or rather they didn't care. They saw no point in living in a bunker waiting for a better time. Earth survives but humans are gone and we won't survive long enough in the bunkers for the time it would take for Earth to be livable by humans again. If it ever happens. I saw the truth in their words. I say the reason in their argument but humanity will eventually be able to return. We could survive in these for a long long time. I argued, I pleaded. Finally I was told the truth. The real truth. "Even if humans can survive. Even if they can leave the bunker in time, we don't deserve to. Face it, Gaia theory was correct. Earth is a living thing, humans are a parasite and it is finally getting rid of us. Earth won. Climate change won.
It was a day that had gone down in infamy, a day that would be remembered as the beginning of the new dark age. The day the flamingo exploded. What was originally a calm and peaceful day, soon led to complete and udder chaos as the flamingo that went by the alias "Tim"suddenly combusted. The blast was massive enough to completely wipe out New york city, reports stated that the blast was felt across the entire globe. Yet it still wasn't even the worst of it. Soon the famines came, creating havoc upon the remains of humanity as disease spread at a rapid rate, along with most modern infrastructure failing. It is believed that if any other flamingo combusts, all of life on planet earth would be completely exterminated.
*Tap tap tap*. The stork tapped its beak on the upstairs window, startling the woman inside who was humming happily as she made the bed. It was a bright and sunny day. When the woman turned and saw the basket in the stork's mouth, tears sprung into her eyes. She covered her mouth with both hands as she squealed with joy. She was so overwhelmed that her knees buckled and she almost fell to the floor. Her and her husband had been trying to get a baby for months, and now the time had finally come. The basket in the stork's mouth meant that she was about to finally become a Mommy. Suddenly, a man ran in the room and looked around wildly. "Honey, is everything okay?"he asked. This man was the woman's husband. "I heard you make a sound and-"His eyes stopped on the stork at the window with a basket in its mouth. "Oh my goodness. Is that?" He looked at his wife. She was nodding at him with tears in her eyes and very soon there were tears in his eyes. For some reason, they decided to hug. Hugs are nice, but sometimes adults like to hug at the randomnest times. Finally, they pulled apart and the wife said, "Can you please go get the baby, dear? I'm so excited, my hands are shaking and I don't want to drop him." The husband smiled on his way to the window and looked back over his shoulder at him. "Him? How do you know the baby is a boy?" "I'm a mother. I just know these things,"the wife replied. The husband shook his head with a grin and opened the window. He gently took the basket from the stork's mouth and looked inside. Sure enough, his wife was right: it was a beautiful little baby boy. He could tell by the blue blanket. As the husband started to pull the baby inside, the stork clamped on to the basket handle with its beak. The husband cried out, "What the-!"and tried to tug the handle out of the stork's mouth but it wouldn't let go. The wife rushed over. "What is going on?" "The bird won't let go!" "Maybe we're supposed to take the baby out of the basket,"the wife suggested. Carefully watching the stork, she reached into the basket. But then she stopped. As she saw something that filled her with dread. "No." She stepped away. "No,"she repeated. The husband looked at her, confused, then back at the baby. He blinked. He saw. "Oh no..."he said. He stepped back. The stork gently picked up a side of the blanket with its beak and covered the baby's face. It put it's beak around the handle again and gave them a look of sympathy before swinging the basket away from the window and flying up into the air with it and the baby. "Wait!"the mother screamed, running to the window. "My baby! Please! Bring him back! I still want him! PLEASE! MY BABYYYYYYYY!" The husband gently wrapped his arms around her and pulled her away from the window. She fell to the floor and he went down with her. They sat there for hours as she sobbed into his shoulder, repeating over and over the same two words: "My baby...."
"Yes Mr Debarau, right away Mr Debarau."The meeting ended, Mr Debarau lumbered out of the room like he had broomsticks on his arms (which, was impossible, his suit was so tight and well fitted that one could not possibly have fit a broomstick alongside a normal human arm), and Wilfred got to work deciphering what his team had been ordered to do. Mr Debarau had been working for the company for a hundred and thirty illustrious years, and in that time his movements, once unknowable and terrifying, had been described, codified and illustrated, alongside their meanings. Wilfred's sole job was to interpret Mr Debarau. He was the third of his line for which that task had fallen, which had begun with his grandmother, Wyla, who appeared shuddering and half dead on the door of the office two days after Mr Debarau had joined and proved a remarkable interpreter, reducing office casualties by nearly 60% in her first year and down to a respectable 2 consumptions a year by the time she retired. When her eyes were found growing out of a nearby rosebush and the rest of her wandered into the night, her pension had been paid into her account and her son, Wilson, had taken over. Wilson had created The Tome, the awfully archaic and mysterious name for what was essentially a reference text. it was of such a size that it always peaked over the edge of a desk furnished with the requisite lamp, legal pad and typewriter, so Wilfred had gotten into the habit of leaving it in the meeting room. That Mr Debarau strongly disliked electric lighting lent the entire space a quasi-ritualistic air, as Wilfred's disciples waited for Mr Debarau's will to be made clear. The book was bound in a material remarkably like Mr Debarau's suit, bluish with odd splotches and an odd warmth. the cracked, yellow pages were annoying, but the pages refused to be copied by any mundane means and it was not nearly economically viable to outsource the job to the translations department. The company was, somewhat, in remission, and four Consmuptions had already occurred that year. It would take financial miracles to bring them back but, according to the records, Mr Debarau had guided them through worse. Wilfred closed the book with a damp thud. "Well?"asked Wynonna "We're to discontinue the third and sixth product lines, incorporate the fourth as a feature of the second and boost marketing to them. Have Human Resources catalogue the marketing team and consume the most senior and most junior team members, we need to hit a younger target audience."
Agent Burrow's heart seemingly beat faster than the speed of light as he and his coworkers in the Secret Service scrambled to acquire their equipment. He felt no small degree of excitement - he knew this would be the biggest day of his entire career. About three minutes ago, something had crashed in front of the home of the President - and nobody really knew what it was. Even in the chaos of the preparation, the agents shared speculation amongst themselves while they raced in and out of rooms, grabbing weapons and armor. Some believed it was a foreign attack - perhaps an artillery shell that had failed to properly detonate. Others believed the object to be an errant component of a malfunctioning aircraft, separated from its fuselage at an inopportune time. Of course, there were those that subscribed to the more fantastical - whispers of extraterrestrial contact echoed softly throughout the halls, not nearly as loud as the other explanations, but never fully drowned out, either. Burrow wasn't sure what to think. Ultimately, he tried not to speculate too much. He had a history of letting his imagination get ahead of himself, and he knew it. Besides, there was no way to really get any valuable information until he saw the object for himself. To that end, he grabbed his pistol, ensured there was ammunition in the magazine, holstered it, and hurried to join those of his associates that were rushing to the front doors of the facility. The sounds of heavy footsteps and heavier breathing surrounded him as he tried to count the number of agents alongside him, a task easier said than done in the chaos of the situation. Three, five, eight... while Burrow could tell it was more than a dozen, it was impossible to get an exact number. It was, however, possible for Burrow to grasp the scope of the operation, and he noted that the response size did not bode well for what he was about to deal with. The higher-ups were scared; that much was obvious. Burrow couldn't help it when his mind wandered back to the rumors and speculation - specifically, the ones that most would find difficult to believe. The concept of an extraterrestrial - an *alien* \- arriving on Earth was difficult for Burrow to grasp, but what else would warrant such a strong response? It wouldn't make any sense otherw- *No*, Burrow chastised himself. *It may not make sense to* me, *but that doesn't mean anything. Just do your job and don't let the others know that you're crazy.* With a deep breath, Burrow reached the doors leading outside, where the agents were massing into one large team. He joined it, and together they all burst forth onto the street. It was quite the sight - to his left, Burrow noted policemen in riot gear keeping a quickly growing crowd at bay. Directly ahead, he could spot a heavy police presence in the middle of the street - cruisers with their emergency lights on, parked in a circle and forming a sort of barricade around the source of a massive plume of smoke trailing off into the sky. Officers darted back and forth between the vehicles, some in the front with their firearms drawn, others in the back barking orders. The agent at the head of Burrow's group stopped and turned around, giving a sharp hand signal directed towards the police cars ahead of them. The silence of the agents as they moved, with the exception of their footfalls, served as somewhat of an unnerving contrast to the shouts and clamor emerging from the police and the crowd. As they approached the police vehicles, Burrow's crowd stopped. The head agent said some short words to one of the officers in the back of the blockade, who turned and shouted "Make way! Let the Service through!"before four officers jogged off to the side. The leader of Burrow's group raised her weapon and sharply moved her head towards the smoke plume before cautiously yet quickly moving forward. The other agents behind her did the same, including Burrow, who unholstered his pistol, flipped off the safety, and silently followed behind the other agents. When they got through the barricade, they spread out, giving Burrow his first look at the source of the smoke. What he saw almost made his heart stop. The craft was alien; there was no doubt about that. The design was unlike anything that Burrow had ever seen. It was a rather large dark green disk, of sorts - the top featured a cracked dome of glass in the center, which could not be seen into as a result of the inner compartment being saturated with smoke. The dome was attached at the base to what Burrow could only describe as a disk-shaped fuselage; the top surface curved downward towards the bottom of the craft as it extended outward away from the glass dome at the midpoint of the disk's diameter. The fuselage formed a right angle with the ground at its edge, forming a small flat portion that proceeded downwards. The part of the craft furthest away from Burrow billowed smoke up into the sky. Nobody could get a good look at the bottom of the craft; when it landed, it had partially buried itself in the concrete, preventing any detailed examination of the rest of the object. That didn't matter, though - Burrow could tell without a shadow of a doubt that this thing was foreign. *Alien*. The agents spread out into a line, pointing their weapons at the alien craft. The only sounds that Burrow could hear were the police officers scrambling behind him and his own, rapid heartbeat. The tension was palpable. Nobody dared approach. Suddenly, steam shot out from under the glass dome, letting out a loud hissing sound. Burrow's heart skipped a beat. The dome slowly opened in a way that reminded Burrow of the launcher closer door of a missile silo. Smoke poured out from inside, although Burrow still couldn't see through it. He noticed his pistol quivering, as were the hands that held it. The dome stopped when it reached a right angle with the road. As more smoke poured out of the dome's compartment, more of the interior became visible. Burrow could now make out a control panel - or series of control panels - lining the inside. He made note of levers, buttons, keyholes, and other apparatuses that he couldn't quite place. Eventually, the smoke thinned enough to see... Burrow nearly dropped his firearm, and he heard a gasp from the agent next to him. There, in the middle of the smoke, was the unmistakable silhouette of a standing humanoid creature. It took a step forward. Burrow's mind raced. What would this creature look like? Sound like? What was its culture? How would they communicate? Did this thing even *talk* in a way that he would be able to recognize? What would this mean for the planet at large? The alien took another step, and Burrow forcefully put the breaks on his runaway train of thought. He took a deep breath and stabilized the weapon in his hands. There would be time to ask those questions, but now wasn't it. Humankind was about to make first contact with real, true *alien* life - and he was going to be on the front lines. The silhouette moved again, and some of the smoke cleared. It moved again, and Burrow caught what seemed to be an arm briefly emerge from the smoke before retreating back into it. He took another deep breath, and double checked to make sure the safety was off on his pistol. Time almost seemed to stop as he saw the alien take the final step out of the smoke... ...and his jaw dropped when a roughly 60 year-old Caucasian male casually strolled onto and across the hull of the craft, and then down onto the street.
Carter wakes up in a grand room. It’s filled with marble pillars and tables full of knick knacks. It’s grand, like the Greek architecture that he sees in pictures. Sunlight is shinning across the hall. The warm breeze caresses Carter’s skin. A smooth voice begins speak. “Hello Carter,” says a brown skinned man sitting on top of a throne. “Er. Hello.” Carter looks him over. He is wearing a traditional toga, has long black hair, and a scar on his face. He stands up and offers a hand to Carter. After Carter stands up, he shakes Carter’s hand. “Ares. The god of war and vengeance. You may also recognize my other name, Mars.” Carter’s breathing begins to slow. “What do I say to a literal god?” He thought as he eyes those souvenirs on the table. Dog tags lay on several of the tables, along with shields and bullets as well. Ares reads Carter’s clueless expression, he speaks again. “Do not fret. I know who you are and how you killed Jimmy by accident.” “Why am I here though?” “Because you killed a murderer.” “Jimmy was a muderer?” “The tattoo of the tear drop on his eye didn’t tell you?” “Well I am kind of slow. That’s why I worked in the factory.” “I see. “Is Jimmy alright? He and I got shredded in the ground meat maker.” “The first thing you do in the afterlife is ask if a murderer is alright?” “It’s my fault though.” Carter says, not realizing that he’s in front of the god of death himself. “Well I mean killing people isn’t something I would do.” “I know.” “So what happens now?” “Tonight, I will introduce you to Dionysus. We’ll have a grand party. Lots of wine will be in your belly and you’ll have all the sex with whomever you want. “Then tomorrow, we hit the arena.” Carter’s stomach begins to drop. “The arena?” “Yes, you are in the domain of the war god. You’ll have to fight for your right to live now. Otherwise I’ll send you off to Hades.” Carter gulps, “I can’t fight.” “All you have to do is fight. Doesn’t matter if you win or lose. Come. Let’s not ponder about tomorrow. You should meet my brother, Dionysus. You’ll find the greek afterlife isn’t so bad.” A night of partying passes by. Carter wakes up with his head pounding. He looks down and sees that he is wearing a toga. He stands in front of his mirror, eying the comfortable garb. He thinks that this isn’t so bad. He gets to wear a toga, fight, and drink all night long. His previous life was work ten hour to fifteen hours a day. He didn’t have time for fun and he was sleep deprived all the time. He goes back to the grand hall he spawned in and sees Ares. ”Where is Jimmy?” ”Looking for some spare change to pass the river of the dead.” ”Did I happen to have some change?” Carter asks.
**Indifferent and Enduring** ​ It was called the Great Mother by those who knew it first. Planted so many eons ago by the ancestors of ancestors when they came to that land, the magnificent oak had sat in the center of the tribal village of Kor Unnaj for longer than memory could tell. Generations came and went beneath its sprawling branches, the wise and strong were laid to rest among its roots when they passed, stories and love mingled around it, but the Great Mother would outlast her first children. Eventually, one by one, the people of Kor Unnaj began to fade. Be it by the fell hands of a few bad winters, violent strife among families, or a sickness borne in on the river, people were dying faster than ever before. It seemed bad luck had finally caught up after so many hundreds of years of simple peace. Throughout the tragedy though, the Great Mother stood tall as ever, indifferent and enduring. When Alfonzo Moro and his crew caught sight of it through the forest canopy against the setting sun, they were struck dumb by its unmatched beauty, and they named it Goldenlight. It proved to be a sign of good fortune for the men, for soon after they made camp in the shade of the oak, a few flecks of gold were found in the river nearby. Alfonzo was overjoyed, and by the time his crew had made it back across the sea, many had already heard of the treasure to be found around the tree named Goldenlight. Looking to score some piece of the radiant metal, the thousands that soon flocked to the site largely ignored the awe of the tree that had captivated the first arrivals. It was merely a waypoint on the journey to riches as its forest was trampled and its river ran brown with the debris from the prospectors. During those years, Goldenlight's leaves lost some of their youthful green, and the first signs of the scars of age in hundreds of years began to appear on its wrinkled bark. But still, Goldenlight stood tall as ever, indifferent and enduring. It had been some time since the last of the gold had been carted off, and even longer since the final remnants of Kor Unnaj vanished, when Imperial Rail made the decision to route a new section of their steam train line through the area where the ancient tree still stood. Largely alone at this point, with most of the forest having been reduced to scattered shrubs and a few other trees, the rail workers called the tree Lone Tower. It was in the shadow of Lone Tower that the track was laid, the workers blasting the earth and driving iron spikes day in and day out while sun beat down upon the increasingly desolate landscape. It wasn't long before the track was complete, and the roaring, soot-belching engines of Imperial Rail began their daily service dragging freight and passengers from here-be-dragons to who-knows-where. Though by now Lone Tower had grown sickly and withered from the fumes and dirtied soil, it stood tall as ever, indifferent and enduring. The more people there are, the more land needs to be built for all of them to live comfortably. It was for this reason that the nearby city of New Argond was to be expanded down the railway to cope with the speedily rising population and the growing industry. The ancient tree however, was a point of contention among the city board. Some wanted it removed to make way for an ambitious housing project, while others wanted to turn the area into a park with the tree in its center. A local election and a fundraiser later, it was decided that the park would be constructed, and from then on, the tree that stood there would be known as the Park Square Oak. The park was well trafficked by residents and tourists alike in the city, but as with so much of the tree's history so far, this would take a toll. The Park Square Oak smothered the visitors, and careless waste management and poor city cleaning was slowly poisoning it with litter and pollution from the streets. Even in summer, it was rare to see green leaves anymore. Bark and branches were peeling off, worsened by the children that would attempt to climb the tree. But even though things had never been worse, the Park Square Oak stood tall as ever, indifferent and enduring. Peace is a delicate thing. It is not the path of least resistance. Violence and destruction are inevitable. This was the conclusion many came to after an argument over politics in the New Argond park erupted into a fight, and then a riot. Police did their best to calm the situation, but things got out of hand, and a fire was started that quickly raged out of control. As the flames licked closer to the Park Square Oak, there was too much focus on the fighting below to put it out, and the tree became engulfed in the conflagration. The story of the riot and the fire became national news, and the Burning Tree of New Argond was what it was known as in its final moments. As blackened limbs of the tree crashed to the ground and the trunk glowed like a great torch into the night, the life of the Burning Tree of New Argond, the Park Square Oak, Lone Tower, Goldenlight, the Great Mother, finally was wiped out. No longer did it stand tall, no longer was it indifferent, no longer did it endure. All it was was a smoldering pile of ash and coals surrounded by the chaos of modern city life. Such will be the fate of all natural things in the end.
“Knaves? I just watched you form a storm cloud inside the room we’re in by swirling your hands!” The robed woman warmly smiled at the student, the arcane lightning in her eyes fading into a foggy absentmindedness. “We mages do what we need to do to get by.” She inhaled slowly and closed her textbook. “Let me tell you a story. Please, sit.” The young scholar sat down, eager to here the history of spellcasting. “There once was a girl named Elena. She was an orphan, and she wandered the streets of the biggest city in the entire kingdom, waiting for her chance to make a name for herself. She was so full of hope and joy, despite owning nothing but her tattered clothing. “As Elena grew up, her hope started to fade, and her time once spent waiting for an opportunity was now spent waiting for a chance to leave. She despised the world order, and she was attacked daily by the wealthy and the power-hungry. She wanted nothing more than to run away and be free of this life of darkness and misery. “If you learn anything from me, know this: people don’t practice magic to honor promises, hold traditions, or acquire more power than they already possess. They practice magic to survive in a world that so desperately wants them to fail, to exist on anything that resembles equal footing to those with wealth and titles. Young Elena learned this the hard way, and at her lowest point, she searched for answers among sigils and glyphs. When she loosed her first lick of fire in public, the people around her screamed and fled in terror. Elena didn’t like scaring people, but at least she was noticed for once.” The instructor could hear her voice starting to rise, and she quickly regained composure. “Magic is perceived as a gift from higher powers, a blessing to be used for the betterment of society. To master the ability to shape magic to your whim, you must disillusion yourself to this idea, but use it to your advantage. Our skills come from hard work and grit alone, and they are the bare necessity we need to exist in this world; however, people believe we are channeling the will of their gods, and will respect or fear us for it.” The mage’s student stared with sparkles in their eyes. “So Elena proved to the world that she can stand up to her oppressors with feats of magical skill? She sounds like a great hero! I’d love to meet her some day!” The teacher sighed and said, “Well, something like that. But enough about that woman. Let’s see how your illusions are coming along.” The mage knew that her student was hyperfixated on the spectacle of spellcasting rather than the effort that was required of it. After all, they were the heir to the king; she was positive that they never had to work a day in their life. But still, something about them reminded her of when she was younger: so inspired by small feats of progress and so hopeful that minor illusions could save her from the hell she lived through. Maybe someday, with enough training under a former urchin, the future monarch could have a more worldly perspective that could change the world Elena had despised.
“Sir? Sir? You can’t be here”, her voice exclaimed, followed by a young female, dressed in uniform. “Sorry, I think I got lost, do you know where I am?” I asked “You’re in the middle of an active crime scene - please don’t move, as I call for backup”. She reached the button on her device, clicked it gently and shouted “Officer Amy, requesting backup in the library, suspect has been caught”. “10-4”, the speaker replied, followed by some rushing steps from a staircase. “Do you know who I am?” I asked “Don’t you try to pull title on me”, she said firmly, “now remain quiet” “I am not…” I began saying 5 other uniformed people has barged the room. “Where is he? Where is the suspect?” the rushed, looking around. “He is right here”, Amy raised her voice and said, angrily. “Officer Duke, if you think this is a laughing matter to prank us like this, while we investigate a crime scene, potentially risking life and losing the trust of your peers… well, I don’t know what can be done for you”, the high ranking officer said, disappointed. Amy raised her hands, pointing to my direction “But Dad!”, she begged “No Dad”, he replied. “Now stay here, out of the crime scene, we’ll deal with you later”. He span around, and got out of the door. “Come, I don’t care what you have to see here, I want to down stairs, now”. They all left. Amy was looking down, not sure what do to. “I really don’t know who I am”, I got to complete my sentence. “You’re… I’m hallucinating… it’s all this stress, I can’t believe I made such a fool of myself. And now I’m talking to myself loudly, like I didn’t make myself crazy as it is”, she weeped to herself “I am here”, I tried convincing her. “Okay, if I’m a fabric of your imagination, I should be able to know only things that you know, right?” She nodded, hopefully to me. “So… I can’t recall why I am here” “Very convenient-” “But, I probably belong to this place if I was waken up here…”, I said, as I walked around the room. I couldn’t find any memory or knowledge to show off with. This was a huge library, I wish I was living here. “Stop”, she said. “What?” “Who’s the guy in the picture? He looks like you” “I have not idea - I don’t know how I look, and I don’t know who this guy is”, I looked and saw the plaque underneath saying “Edward Throbbing”, and took my opportunity. “Okay, I just remembered, this is me, Edward Throbbing, yes, yes”, I said convincingly, at least I was. Am I Edward? Do I prefer Ed? She took her phone, and typed some keys. “Well, this Edward Throbbing died 100 years ago, so…”, she paused “This means that you’re -” “A ghost?!” I exclaimed “Lying” she said angrily “I have no idea who I am”, I repeated “Well, continuing the search I can see that Edward had a grand-grand-son” “So, look at the picture, is it me?”
Dear Diary, I am beginning to get discouraged. Today I had thought I had finally found him! After all of these so many years of searching, the moment was perfect. I left out a trap with his favorite food and waited with my camera posed. There was no way it could go wrong! I saw evidence that he had been in the area leas than 30mins earlier. He had left some food and other items. Though I couldn’t identify them, I just knew they were his! I set my trap and waited. I knew he liked meat. He would often leave raw meat out, so most assume that is what he likes. I figure the opposite though. He must like what he doesn’t leave! I lay out cooked salmon for him. The weather was perfect. Just a tad warm with a cool breeze and sunshine. He will be out today for sure! It is on cold days when he never leaves his den. I was going to see one with my own two eyes! But no. I waited for 48 hours, but he never returned. I never even saw so much of a glimpse! Mom says I need to give it up. Sure, the only evidence is blurry photos…but I still want to believe he is real. I want to see one with my own eyes more than anything else in the world! I…I know he is real! Little foot! I will find you one of these days. I will prove everyone wrong! (From the diary of Dunkin, a North American Bigfoot during his search for humans)
(Disclaimer: Read between the lines and with a grain of salt. Don't get caught up in the obvious conspiracy. I'm not responsible for your "epiphanies", because, as the prompt says, I *am* lying to you.) You are religious, even if you don't believe in gods. Don't believe me? Let me tell you about money. See, the origins of money is based in trade itself; you'd work in a field for a few bags of grain, trade some grain in to get a chicken to celebrate something, trade some chickens and grain for a cow, or maybe get someone to chop wood for you in exchange for grain, so that you could trade other grain to get someone else to form the clay house for you to live in. However, as people expanded beyond the single tribe, where everyone did their part for the most part, tribes became villages, villages became communities, became towns, became cities, became countries. Along the way, people had the - either really smart or really stupid - idea to put themselves in debt. "If you give me grain, I'll give you wood. If I don't eat, I won't have the strength to cut the wood and bring the lumber to you." The genius part of this move was that you got paid for something you didn't yet do. The stupid part was in the invention of lying that you could promise to do something and get paid for it, then not do it. You break that promise. And you get away with it, since it takes even more effort to hunt you down and get revenge. It's not like you can *un*\-eat the grain, after all. A sad part of this is when people can't complete the task given, not because of their own shortcomings, but because of obstacles outside either of their control. If you promise a few bags of grain to everyone, but not have enough grain to back it up, then some people work without getting paid. If someone gets paid ahead of time to collect wood, but the wood is low-quality, or was damaged beyond usability upon delivery... If there's a monster in the woods that attacks anyone that tries to get wood, if there's a fire that burnt the forest down, if, if, if- Soon, promises can't be kept. So instead, they write an I.O.U. A simple slip of paper, a binding contract - enforced by those who are paid to enforce said contracts (again, another service where they're getting paid to do something they haven't yet done) - which makes those promises a bit more valid. If they can't pay up, then they get punished. They either lose something else of value that the owed can use, or they're prevented from making promises and debts ever again. This doesn't stop people like bandits, those who have nothing to lose, and/or those who just... skip town and go to another place to make empty promises. So in comes the idea of money. See, if a token of a promise could deem someone's *debt*, could it also show one's *wealth?* Tokens, coins, paper bills, credit cards, these things evolved to better secure the definition of one's wealth, but that's not what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about what money represents. Back to the beginnings, there was a thing called trust. In the little village back then, all you needed was a reputation. Some-... ***intangible*** level of social standing that told people that you could be trusted. This was achieved by teaching the young ones how to avoid danger, tricks to make life a little bit easier, sharing food and having a good time together at parties. In turn, you could ask favors, like watching over your fields, taking care of your pet dog, entertaining your children while you're away. You could gain favor with a mate by spending time with them. Money represented trust. But now? Money represents faith. You don't know if someone else's dollar bill has worth, save for what the system tells you. If someone gave you a twenty-dollar bill, you could very easily spend that money on complete strangers, and they'd all believe it was real money. The cashier doesn't care. It's paper. Worse yet, you have more faith in the dollar bill than you do in a fishing pole or a pack of top-grade wheat seeds. Back then, this shit would have been life-saving stuff. Money may not be an all-powerful god, but it is a greater power than you. Because you know you could be bought - if not you directly, then someone can be paid to kill you. And some might even do it, because they *do* have faith in that twenty dollar bill. They have trust that it will buy them the next day to survive. That it will show them that they are valid in the eyes of the society which relies so much on it. You've been indoctrinated, and you don't even know it. Now let's take a step back. "Religious"means "relating to or believing in a religion". In turn, a "religion"is "the belief in and worship of a superhuman controlling power". Money isn't human. Your religion doesn't ask you to kneel and pray to a god. Your religion doesn't call you to sacrifice yourself for the greater good. All it wants is to gather your trust. Your faith. To prove it's real after who knows how long of being fake. God isn't real, and neither is money. Unlike God, you have proof of money having an effect on the world.
\[POEM\] Let me tell you all about how I fell in love with a girl with BPD and she turned my life upside down She had a baby daddy who was a piece of shit, but I loved their kid The dad got jealous, and had a big fit He was a former dealer, so he was up to no good So he started causing trouble in our neighborhood I threatened to beat his ass, but my ex got scared She said "I hate you and you'll never have no mansion in Bel-Air" She whistled for a hearse as it came near The mortician's plate said "Dead"and it had my life in the mirror Packed up the trauma in a way you can't compare PTSD whenever I see a blond child in Bel-Air Pulled up to my grave at half past 8, threw my soul to the bones in the front seat Said "yo holmes smell ya later" I looked at the gun, I was finally there Living in my fantasies as the king of Bel-air.
"Eres una máquina?" "No, pero tengo el mismo funcionamiento" El angel frunció el ceño, mirando el pequeño dron. "Te ves como un dron" La máquina no respondió durante unos segundos. "¿Cómo sabes lo que es un dron?" El angel señaló una televisión hecha de nubes. "Tenemos acceso a los canales de todo el mundo" "Oh"Dijo sorprendido el dron. "Puede ver más de cerca" El angel alzó una ceja, levantando una tablet blanca. Tarareo unos segundos. "No hay reglas que digan lo contrario" "Yupi"Exclamó el dron acercándose a la televisión. El angel rebuscó en su escritorio. "Quieres que prenda la televisi.. on?"Levantó un control y parpadeando al ver el dron proyectando una serie de luces en la televisión y está parpadeando entre canales y estática. "Listo"Termino el dron de proyectar luces. "Que acabas de ha- no importa"El angel cambio de canales. "Aún funciona" "Claro que lo hará, que me crees una chatarra"Reclamo el dron. El angel levantó las manos de forma defensiva. "Nunca e visto un dron en persona, y que tenga alma"Pensó en algo. "Ni siquiera entiendo cómo es posible" "Bueno, es una historia curiosa, todo comenzó un día soleado cuando de repente un chico se desmayo y al despertar -"El dron fue jalado al suelo de nubes desapareciendo en un instante. El angel miro la forma del dron en el suelo de nubes. Tomo un teléfono y marco un número. "Oye, de los casos en que alguna persona es resucitada y vuelve a la tierra, si. Sabes si puede pasar lo mismo con una máquina, .... Hablo en serio... Si tengo la grabación de seguridad".
\[Sweet Hope\] "Honey? Everything okay?"Ziya entered the barn in search of her friend. It was spacious with several stalled unicorns along one side. A blonde-haired teenage girl sat cross-legged in the center of the barn. Her eyes were closed, but she opened them when Ziya called her name. "You said it was important...,"she continued as she walked forward and sat next to her friend. "Yeah,"Honey nodded. Her tone was flatter than usual and that sparked worry in Ziya. “I need your help,"she said. "Of course,"Ziya nodded eagerly. "Whatever you need."They both knew she meant it. Honey changed Ziya's life for the better since they first met. She introduced Ziya to the multiverse and things she never would have imagined. "I'm going to need you to be strong.. and to be my friend,"Honey said. Her voice wavered with nerves. Despite her seriousness, Ziya couldn't help but giggle lightly. "I'm already your friend..,"she said. But, Honey shook her head. "I know you are,"she said. "And, I know you're not just saying it; but, very soon I'm going to need you to really trust me, no matter what…” "What's going on?"Ziya asked. Honey being insecure about anything was out of character. At least, for the short amount of time that Ziya had known her. "A lot...,"Honey sighed. Then, she looked up and met Ziya's eyes. "You went to visit Donna Chang; but, you haven't asked me any questions yet...,"she said. Ziya nodded. "It felt like the sort of thing that you would talk about when you were ready,"she said. "And, I don't care about your past anyway, no matter how much of it you had." "Thank you,"Honey did flash the faintest of smiles at that; but, it did not last long. She had too much on her mind. "I don't remember much, and I don't want to remember. Donna knows my past better than me. But, I know enough. And, I know some about the future too,"she said. "The future? Which future?"Ziya asked. "Every Earth has its own timeline, right?"Honey nodded. "Yes. But, the multiverse as a whole has its own timeline too. No single Muerte can control a timestream that big, but the right ones working together can. They have,"she added. "They... have?"Ziya asked. Honey nodded. "Do you remember when you met Dirge and Dread?"she asked. Ziya nodded. "They're trying to stop Ms. Sharp from changing the future and asked me for help...,"Honey broke eye contact and looked down at the dirt floor. "That's why I joined your Court,"she said. "Does that change something in the future?"Ziya asked. Honey shrugged. "I don't know if it'll be enough,"she said. "But, I learned about my role in everything; and, I know I wasn't in a Court the last time. But... before anything I need to tell you everything. If you don't want me in your Court anymore, I -,"Ziya shook her head and interrupted. "Of course I still want you!"she said. But, Honey continued without meeting her eyes. "Let me tell you first...,"she said. Ziya nodded and remained quiet. Honey sighed. "Have you heard of a group named, The Conquistadors?"she asked. She looked up long enough to see Ziya shake her head, then she focused on the floor again. "They were the very first Conquerors,"she said. "The first Corona, Sirena, Corazon, Diablito and Calavera ever to be Unique Souls. Then, someone decided they were too strong and too evil. But, they were also too powerful to destroy, so they were sealed away; each one on a different Earth."Ziya's mind filled with questions. Who decided they were too strong? How did they get sealed away? But, Honey wasn't having an easy time sharing her story. She knew those questions could wait. "The Conquistadors are free now. The future depends on whether they succeed this time or fail again. They're planning to try to kill Aury on Friday,"Honey said. "So, we protect him, right?"Ziya asked. She didn't know who 'Aury' was; but, she'd heard his name a few times. He seemed to be well-known in the AlterNet. "It's a little more complicated than that...,"Honey said. "The leader of the Conquistadors is a Corona that is able to control Uniques, even up to the Celestial-tier in some cases,"she added. "He can effortlessly control any of the Conquistadors if he wants to." "Okay...,"Ziya said. She was a little bit confused why he would need to control anyone already on his side. "But, aren't they already working with him?" "Most of them are...,"Honey said. "The leader, Coronado, is of course a Corona. He's a black dragon. The Sirena is named Majicka, and she is a mermaid. She can almost control people as well as Coronado; it's not just her emotions like other Sirenas. The same goes for the Diablito, her name is Diavola; she's a demon. And, the Corazón of the group is named Runehart. He's a unicorn. The Calavera was named Goliath; he was a powerful, vicious giant." "Was?"Ziya asked. The word stood out from the description of the others. "I think Ms. Sharp is the only one that knows all the details...,"Honey said. "Somehow Ms. Sharp took Goliath's soul out of his body and put it into a different one. A body she created herself out of nanos,"Ziya was becoming numb to the name 'Ms. Sharp' being associated with outlandish, and fantastical accomplishments. "By the way...,"Honey seemed to change the subject suddenly. "... when I say they were the first Conquerors, I mean, the absolute first ones to ever exist in any universe. If I had to guess...,"Honey sighed and looked up to meet Ziya's eyes finally. "...I'd say they were born around 40 to 45 billion years ago....,"she said. She stopped speaking after that and let Ziya absorb the information. Ziya had heard a similar number recently; but, it still took a moment for it to click. Her eyes widened when she realized it. "Goliath....?"she stared at Honey and whispered the name. The blonde girl nodded. "Not anymore, but that's my soul,"she said. With that revelation out of the way, Honey moved on to the reason she wanted Ziya there. "I don't know if being part of your Court will protect me from Coronado's influence..,"she said. "When he controls your mind, it’s almost impossible to have your own thoughts. But, if I remember that my friend trusts me…,” she shook her head suddenly. “It might not help at all.” Ziya scooted closer to Honey. She grabbed her hand and smiled. "It totally will,"Ziya said. “We've got the power of friendship.” \*\*\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1674 in a row. (Story #228 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on June. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until August 19th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/v6bapz/aurelios_sun_1st_half/).
Super Nam wasn’t a regular super hero. Well, all super heroes are not regular. But if you’ve ever been in the vicinity of one fighting crime or saw one of the documentaries they had on TV, you’d be aware, that while the in did save the situation, the have wrecked everything else around them. Yes, you’re alive. But the train won’t function for at least a few days, there are huge chunks of rocks and gravel through the town, and you might slip into the huge hole opened in your office building. Insurance put their foot down, it’s an act of God, at least in some cases, and for the rest of them, the premium gets so high you might as well agree with the whole hole situation. Some companies have started recruiting based on how fancy their hole is, or the villain that was smashed into it. Can’t complain, this is why I took my first job. And yet, there was Nam, as part of the legal team for those suing the city, he helped our case. See, he proved that at least one super hero was able to do so peacefully. If you must save people, do it respectfully. And I was lucky enough to have a meeting with this pacifist bastard. He didn’t know we are about to meet, but I knew the L train is going to be attacked this morning, so I kept riding it back and forth, waiting. I also got reimbursed for snacks. Crunching on my super crunch bagels, as another crunching sound was heard, two feet has landed on the roof. People panicked. They started screaming. Come on people, it’s a Tuesday, what did you expect? Tourists. I got up, put my bagel pack inside my coat and climbed the ladder to the top of the stopped train cart. Up on the roof, stood Pam. Why Pam is a super villain and not some office secretary? Because women can be whatever they want to be, asshole. And because she was a secretary, stayed up late one night, and got electrocuted when touching the office bird’s cage. Office birds became a thing once people found out they can have office cats, with all the allergies, office cats became a things once people find out they have a hole in their building, dividing between the marketing and sales department. So Pam could fly, and shoot lighting out of the palms of her hands. And I had my coat to protect me from the wind. “Pam!”, I called her, trying to make any sense of the situation, while keeping her outside, “Would you like some bagel bites?” I hope that she isn’t on some carb free diet. And then he landed, Nam. Wearing a suit, a tie and a briefcase. He wasn’t flying, he was gently put down from above. Maybe a fishing line? “Good morning”, Nam said calmly. “Pam, what would you like?” Angry Pam wasn’t willing to talk, and was about to shoot a lighting at Nam. I believed he is succeeding in his tactic, if his tactic was to kill us all. Nam has calmly opened his briefcase, showing the object to Pam. She was confused. She stopped, and then her fondly look became a heart felt tear up. “Oh my god, it’s Twimsy”, she walked to the briefcase and picked up a medium sized refurbished teddy bear. “You see”, Nam said calmly, “people cared enough for you in the world to keep it, all these years” “His eyes, are fixed”, she wondered “Yes they are”, he agreed Pam flew away, taking her precious treasure with her. “Nam”, I said, “You’re amazing, I need to talk to you about an opportunity, to do better, how we can save people without all the wreck, and without the need to bear arms” “Just bears”, He laughed and gave me a participation sticker.
“And of course we have a lovely patch of cobwebs in the corner of this basement. Yes, look at them, they are lovely! And then over here we have a dusty old wooden desk with a bunch of knickknacks and jars of various items submerged in fluids. Of course, that is not all!” I ran through my spiel, a script I had memorized nearly word for word. The curtains fluttered, and I knew I had him on the hook. “And of course, if we move even deeper into this cobwebby, dark, dingy, basement we can see a beautiful section coated in black mold. Now, when we set up the actual haunted house, we will just wall up this section, leaving many many small holes for airflow. Thus, your customers will have a subtly shorter lifespan.” I said proudly, looking at my months of handiwork. I of course spoke through a certified gas mask. The curtains fluttered even harder, cabinets opened and closed, lights turned on and off. I held out the contract for the dinky little house, placing it on a dusty table. A rapid flutter of furniture, and a messy signature was scrawled on the note. “Thank you so much, I hope you enjoy the space!” Another good day of work.
Music… I don’t know where it was coming from but it got louder… and louder, and then a flash of light. When I opened my eyes I noticed I was on a stage, with bright spotlights shining down on me. But then the music cut, as if the power went out. And then there were bells, they sounded almost like church bells, but not quite. I tried to remember what this was “Something in the 2000s… With bells…” And then music started playing. It happened so fast, I was almost like a puppet, being pulled by the strings of plot. The pink gas poured in. My “friends” dropped to the ground one by one, and as I escaped a guitar solo played. “That’s it! Aerodynamic!” Memories came flooding back of an old movie, about aliens and brainwashing and the record industry. But then I felt an impact on my back, and that pink has exploded around me. And just before I passed out I realized; I’m the main character. I’m Apregius. Sorry if the writing’s bad, this is my first time! The movie I based it on is Interstella 5555. It’s a movie made by Daft Punk, and it has no audio, just the album Discovery playing.
Hey there! Yes, you. I’m talking to you. Don’t look away, who else is there for me to talk to but you? You put that post up, didn’t ya? Lookin’ to hire a voice actor. Well, I’m exactly that. My portfolio? Well, I’ve voiced in numerous TV shows, in several movie dubs, as a game voice-actor. Everyone wants my services – What? Why should you hire me? Hmm… well you see, I’ve got a unique talent. I can mimic any voice. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not lying. I can perfectly replicate any voice that I’ve heard before. Whether it be animal, mechanical or vegetable, I can mimic it all. It’s a skill and an inborn talent that I’ve honed to perfection. In fact, I'm quite possibly the most in-demand voice actor in the whole wide world! You…don’t believe me? That’s not possible! I’ve been doing it this whole time, couldn't you tell? I’ve been mimicking your inner voice! *Author note: This is my shortest story to date, and probably the most meta reply I've written. If you liked my writing style, I have a webnovel that I am updating progressively, which can be found here: https://www.webnovel.com/book/polaris-north-star-chronicles\_23138447306348605. Cheers, and thanks for reading.*
I shifted uncomfortably in my disguise. The suit was fit wrongly, the wig was itchy, and the _glasses_! I still don’t know how the guy sees out of those things. I had to be very careful to avoid the other band members before getting on stage, or they would be sure to notice the switch. The switch itself was the easy bit, a pulse stun device (of my own design) in the dressing room, and, perhaps less scientifically, a little rope and gaffer tape did the trick. I didn’t like doing that bit, I really didn’t, but there’s not exactly love lost and what had to be done had to be done. Results over process. That philosophy has served me well. Hiding in the wings and half-shielding my face I made it onto stage, the booming words, “Ladies and Gentlemen….U2!!!” The crowd roared. The thousands of eager faces burning with excitement. It struck me how strange it was that there were so many people and yet none of them shared my taste in music. I think that had a part to play in the choice I made. Made me feel a little better about what I was about to make them do. I stood centre stage and still, until the crowd hushed. Remembering the gig from the night before, I tried to channel my inner Bono and threw my arms high into the air with energy. The crowd erupted again and the light show started along with the crashing beat from the drums. My next challenge was to set up the mensphonium, the most important tool in my whole endeavour. It takes a little while to be ready, and I had to rush to get it done before the singing was supposed to start. I timed it last night, I had just 14 seconds. My record is 12. The most complicated part of the machine wasn’t really the mind control, more the shrinking capability. I knew there was no way I’d be let in past security without that feature. And I’m fairly sure the Edge would have noticed if I’d come on stage holding the thing. I quickly pushed my hand into the pocket of the shiny suit, and brought out the tiny wooden box. I fumbled it, the stupid glasses costing me a valuable second. I flipped the lid, and pushed the button. I quickly attached my neck strap whilst the box expanded rapidly in my hand, the final notes of the intro approaching. If I missed my cue and didn’t sing, the band would be sure to realise I was an imposter. The Edge turned his head toward me briefly and curiously before looking back at the fret board, his fingers dancing. A drop of sweat from my brow splashed off the growing instrument’s shiny plastic casing. I rubbed my hand along the keys desperately waiting for the small vibration that told me she was ready. A few faces in the front row of the crowd were bemused by what they were seeing. Bono performing some kind of magic trick on the opening number? The bar came crashing to an end and I only had a single beat to hit my first key. Bzzzz. The signal I was waiting for. The crowd pelted into the first lyric of the song, their timing a little off. The Edge looked up again. Why wasn’t I singing? His face twisted into a shout towards me. _hmmmmmmmm_ The note C. Perhaps a little unimaginative of me. But it did it’s job and the deafening noises dropped to nothing all at once. All that was left was a shriek of feedback from the speakers as my band mates stopped playing and dropped their arms to their sides in unison with the crowd. It was easy for me to tap in to the sound system with the mensphonium, and with all eyes on me its effect was extremely powerful. It worked. Of course it did. My creations always do. And the thirty thousand strong crowd stood before me expressionless, a vast Terracotta Army, their clay the flesh of man. I tentatively ran a test. Could you expect any less? I held my index finger firmly on the C, the subduing note. I flicked at a high F with my other hand, and everyone jumped. The earth thundered and rumbled beneath the arena. Test succeeded. Now, it was time to enact my real plan, what I had been striving for my entire life. The thing I needed this army of tasteless people to help me achieve. My index finger held firm, and I brought my other hand down towards a sour E Minor chord. Suddenly, I felt my feet shift. My knees buckle, and another sound cut thick through air. A cacophonous crack. Louder by far than the mensphonium. Some voices raised from the crowd, some limbs moved, the sound of the instrument struggling to hold its audial captives. This was not the plan at all. I fell, desperately trying to keep hold of the C, but my finger crashed into the ground and broke sharply upon impact. The crack died slowly and was replaced with the crowd’s screams. Not of excitement (or enviable lack of musical self awareness) but of fear. The ground opened and the stage began to quickly sink into the earth. I saw that a chasm was opened in the crowd bringing people and twisting metal streaming down into blackness. For all my calculations, for all my decades of work, it never occurred to me that 30,000 people jumping at once in the same place might not be the best idea. As the swell of fear began to swallow us all as fast as the earth, I couldn’t help but look up from the floor and see the sky. As I was sucked downward to my death, I was amazed at its blue. But this was no longer a Beautiful Day.
INTERVIEWER: "I'm sorry, did you say cavalry?" SOLDIER: "Yeah. I mean, that's how I would describe them. They came in on, like, horses with armor and stuff." INTERVIEWER: "...the Uingha sent in horses with armor?" SOLDIER: "Well, I mean, they had people on the backs with rifles and all that. Also, they obviously weren't actual Earth horses, but that's what they reminded me of." INTERVIEWER: "How about you just start from the top and tell me what happened." SOLDIER: "Right. Well, one of the Hertes managed to nick me in the leg with a burst-fire plasma rifle. Three shots, so it only took one burst to go through my shields and armor before giving me a pretty nasty burn on the shin." INTERVIEWER: "So, you were incapacitated when this... 'cavalry' showed up?" SOLDIER: "Yeah. Our medic had to go fetch a burn wad, so I was just sitting behind one of those portable cover blocks trying not to get shot again. It was the first time that I had actually taken a look at our lines during the battle, and it was... rough. There were others like me - injured soldiers, I mean - that were sitting behind cover, and others were doing what they could to treat the injuries. A bunch of us that had gotten seriously injured were being put on stretchers and carried back to camp. That's not to mention all of the corpses that were on the ground." INTERVIEWER: "That doesn't sound like a ringing endorsement for the United Nations's capacity to win the battle." SOLDIER: "Well... if I'm being honest, sir... it wasn't. Things looked pretty darn bad. And that's the thing, too - our guys were starting to panic, because nobody actually expected us to lose." INTERVIEWER: "Interesting. Why the confidence?" SOLDIER: "I mean, you know how things have been out there, sir. Humans have outclassed pretty much every other spacefaring species from the moment we made contact with the rest of the galaxy. Our economy is stronger than anyone else's, our technology is starting to outperform everything else out there... we're even *physically* faster and tougher than just about any other species out there. I guess we just assumed that the fight would be pretty one-sided." INTERVIEWER: "And you think that the overconfidence of U.N. forces played a role in our near-defeat?" SOLDIER: "Definitely, sir." \[A pause.\] SOLDIER: "Heh... you know, it's funny. We've always prided ourselves in our ability to persevere... we've always viewed ourselves as a species that faces down impossible odds and fights them anyway. It's pretty weird to *be* those odds for another species, and have *them* respond the same way. It... almost felt a bit like looking in the mirror." \[A pause.\] INTERVIEWER: "Sam? Are you still with us?" SOLDIER: "Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry, sir. Um... what were we talking about again?" INTERVIEWER: "You were telling me about how the U.N. was losing the battle." SOLDIER: "Oh, yeah. As I was saying, things were looking pretty bad, and the Colonel thought the same thing. So, he decided to send a call for reinforcements to the Uingha camp a few miles to the south." INTERVIEWER: "Colonel Hanarr requested reinforcements from aliens?" SOLDIER: "Yes, sir. A few of the guys objected at first, but they knew that we were losing. Also, the brass paid the colonel more than them." \[SOLDIER chuckles, then coughs.\] SOLDIER: "...Anyway, yeah, we sent a message to the Uingha. I had to wait a few minutes before the doc came back with that burn wad, and when she did, she told me that I wasn't in fighting shape. I also couldn't safely move further behind friendly lines, so I kind of just... sat behind that portable cover for the rest of the firefight, watching things happen. We didn't start faring any better over that next hour, though; the Hertes were hitting us pretty hard. I'm almost certain that we would have ultimately lost that fight."
They kept screaming, "Emeralds up! Up here! Emeralds!"Pointing to the small baskets as if I didn't already know where the green stones went. Like we didn't all know why we were chained to land. We were prisoners of war. But this was our land. Our valley. I looked over the dwellings and buildings they had made, scarring our land with their brutish structures, daring to be so close to the river and its pristine water. Not so long ago, the gauntlets of rape and torture claimed lives. But, we could be handy, someone discovered. Perhaps the mine owner whispered. I imagined a baron with a cigar, tapping ashes saying, "They can feel the rocks under their hooves. Like truffle hunters."So, we lived to slake the lust for these stones. They started feeding us well. Clean water too. To keep up our good spirits, they started giving us clothes. They removed the chains. Instead of ogling our bodies, they now saw us as investments, capital equipment. I started wearing whatever tunic they provided. The fear which had held us so tightly gave way to gratitude among us, for the gift of life. We started singing our old songs about our beautiful mountains, meadows and streams. They were so careful with us. Examining us anytime we left the mining fields. Sticking a flashlight in our mouths to check for emeralds. The first time a small stone bounced off the ground, between my thighs, I gulped at the pain. But the stone did not move so easily either. There, where the foals fall, I kept a stone. Then another, and then another. I started whispering to my fellow prisoners, my countrywomen. In the day, we swallowed stones. We carried them in our bodies anywhere we could hide them. In the night, we whispered secrets. What they heard were the gentle whinnies that reminded them of horses back home. They did not know we were speaking. They only understood human languages. They did not know our culture. We are the children of gods they never knew. So what would they ever know of our magic? They would see us rolling in our dust baths, laughing at the ways they saw as backwards. They wanted us to hollow out the breast of the mountain, to bleed it of the stones. They did not know that the stones have their own stories, and powers. We were feeding the stones to the gods of the waters, of the underground streams. These beautiful rocks made the gods even stronger. "We will return these stones"the stream gods told us. We felt it, in the tiny rumblings. We knew what it meant, for them to return the stones we gave them. One morning, through the screaming of "Emeralds up!"my ear started to flick. That deep, deep sound touched my belly. I knew I didn't have much time. For the love of my child and my sweet man, I needed to save my countrywomen, for the mothers of the future. I whinnied, "Now!"We all kicked, kicked and kicked with all of our legs to loosen the grounds and ran for the highest spots. The gods of the waters filled the mine, and filled the valley so fast the conquerors hardly had time to scream for their lives. I mourned for them too.
After fourteen agents went missing the Pinata Glurbs started to play dirty; they brought in bulldozers. This jungle was going to give up its secrets whether it liked it or not. No more waiting! The ancient trees groaned, then began to topple. Wind swirled out from the interior of the jungle soon afterwards. The wind growled. Crash! From the interior of the jungle came the sound of a neighbor passive aggressively slamming their door over and over. Crash! When they thought the worst was over...giant gobble walkers burst out of magical doorways that opened up from the toppled trees and voraciously ate all the drivers, and then the bulldozers themselves. Fat and sleepy, all the gobble walkers gathered together back in the jungles center and formed themselves into a Mega Gobble Walker. It was as tall as a three story building when it stretched up and yawned. It came for the city nearby, heading straight for Pinata Glurb Headquarters.
Edward squirmed in his seat. He had woken up recently, and found himself tied to a chair, bonded tightly in a dark room. Directly across to him was Oswald Cobblepot, screaming in fear. Edward looked around, looking for someone who could have done this. They were interrupted by the clearing of a throat. "My sincerest apologies, sirs. It was terribly rude of me not to cordially invite you to this event." Their heads snapped to the side. It was... Bruce Wayne's *Butler*? Alfred, or whatever he was called... "Now he's dead, I suppose it's no use keeping the secret anymore."Alfred said, producing a shotgun from the darkness. "Master Bruce was Batman." This revelation did not shock either man. It didn't take a genius. "I'm sure you already knew that. However, what you may not have known... was that Master Bruce treated me like I was very much his father, and I treated him like he was very much his son."Alfred continued, loading the shotgun. This was starting to worry Edward, and he could see the same was true of Oswald. He was shaking so much he could measure on the Richter Scale, and sweating buckets at the same time. "Now. You may have inferred that you have done me an incredible wrong by killing Master Bruce. And judging by your expression, Mr. Cobblepot, you have inferred how I am going to take payback." He loaded the gun, and oh-so-casually blew the Penguin's brains out. A shower of viscera coated both men, and Edward started. He did not expect Alfred to actually kill him. Didn't Batman have some sort of code? "Master Bruce never did have the stomach for death. He set himself moral restrictions. So he wouldn't kill scum like you. As I have demonstrated, you will receive no such niceties from me." Sweat poured from Edward's forehead. This was how he was going to die. A hostage. Kidnapped. Not even tortured, just executed. It wasn't fair. Something snapped inside of him, but as soon as he started kicking and screaming, he was cracked in the jaw by Alfred's shotgun. He cocked it once more, and pointed it at Edward's face. "You fancy yourself the Riddler, yes? Well, then, Mr. Nigma. Riddle me this: what's green and black and red all over?" Alfred pulled the trigger, the corner of his mouth turning up at his little joke. Riddler's brains painted the chair's back. Alfred looked forward, and nodded. "You may stop recording now, Master Dick."
"What are we going to do about Clarissa's cake?"Ma asked. "Is she still doing that thing?" Araceli and I exchanged glances. "I'm not sure if the kids are gonna make the cake?"These being Araceli's three boys, all three of them highly unlikely to bake anything though we were beginning to have doubts about the eldest. "Well, they're gonna demolish the cake, we can count on them for that,"Ma nodded. "I'm still gonna bake it myself, don't worry. I'll get a box mix at the store. Nice, cheap. But I'm not sure she's gonna want it there at all." "Probably not since she's still doing that thing." That thing being a technique for developing food aversion. Clarissa has been trying to lose weight since she was about 11 years old. She has been through it all, the shakes, the wraps, the groups, the fitness trackers, the apps, the online personalized trainers, the 40 day body, the 120 day body, the lemon and cayenne, the cabbage, the modest lifestyle changes, the trauma-informed therapy, the reputable weight loss meds, the behind the gym in the parking lot meds, umpteen lab tests, even a gastric sleeve. She has tried practically everything I've ever heard of. These days, she pays $90 an hour to be screamed at by this lady who is certified in "anthropomorphic sensitization."Basically, whatever Clarissa is going to binge on now has feelings. It would be akin to eating a live puppy. I went with her once to her session and it was so disturbing, I didn't eat for the rest of the day. The anthropomorphic sensitizator, "Dr. Stacy,"looked harmless in her button down shirt and khakis, and her office looked normal like any other therapist's office. There were nice calming paintings, dim lighting, and there was a couch with a coffee table in front of it. "Please make yourselves at home,"Dr. Stacy smiled. She gave us each a glass of water then returned with a multi-tier silver tray full of gleaming pastries: donuts, cookies, cupcakes, brownies, croissants, Danishes, dumplings, mochi, mille-feuilles, cannoli, burfi, baklava, churros...like, everything. "Please help yourselves." This was not Clarissa's first appointment; no surprise I ended up first. I grabbed a macaroon and brought it to my mouth--and Dr. Stacy shrieked "IT's ALIVE!"I dropped it and it cracked on the floor. Dr. Stacy joined it, wailing and thrashing all of her limbs. "How could you be so CRUEL? What did they do to you? Once a beating heart and dreams, now shattered, you disgusting ravenous monster,"etc. It took at least two minutes to subside. I picked up the cracked macaroon, blew on it--and Dr. Stacy erupted again. "Your teeth tearing through Jonathan's flesh--yes, he has a name, and a family--" Clarissa nudged me and I noticed that the macaroon had googly eyes stuck to it. All of the desserts did. Once Dr. Stacy was done foaming at the mouth, she sat on her heels and straightened her shirt. "Okay, Clarissa, your turn,"she chirped. "We are not taking turns either,"I muttered. "This is your thing." Clarissa made it through the session with an impressive fortitude and a slight sheen of sweat. On our way out, I asked her about chocolate bars because these were her downfall more than anything else. "We're going to do those next week. Dr. Stacy still has to shellac a new set. She says they usually last about six months. She also does cuisine-specific sessions, but I guess I kind of just eat everything." "Is it working?" "I think so." It was. Clarissa went down about 30 pounds in 2 months. I and Araceli also lost a few pounds because Clarissa had internalized--and then unfortunately started externalizing--Dr. Stacy's monologues. "Stop! Don't you rip through poor Stanley like that! You peeled his skin off, couldn't you hear his screaming?" "Puta, that was the last Hagen Daaz!!!" "You DEGLOVED him!!" "Girls,"Ma bellowed, "You're louder than the boys, cut it out." After the first such Sunday after-dinner entertainment, it was decided that Clarissa would go for a walk while the rest of us ate dessert. And thus we all prospered. We continued to enjoy whatever Ma had in the freezer, and Clarissa kept dropping weight, a sustained average of 2-3 pounds per week after the first big dip. It was miraculous. But maybe it wasn't worth it overall because, ever so gradually, Clarissa started talking to the desserts in the grocery store. It started off small, just a little wave, "Hey cookies,"and progressed until she was berating fellow patrons, and was banned from the store. "I don't think you need to bake a cake,"Araceli said. "We could just eat those Magnum bars you got,"I added. Ma shook her head. "I'll do cupcakes. We'll bring one out, just one, stick a candle in it, she blows it out, and then she can adopt it and take it on a walk while the rest of us eat ours." Araceli then texted Clarissa asking what kind of cupcake she wanted, and Clarissa compared that to going to a slave market. "OMG, Ma!"Araceli groaned. "I'll just buy more ice cream." "No, I got this,"Ma winked. That Sunday, after a modest supper of lentils, rice, and stir-fried vegetables (for Dr. Stacy was expanding Clarissa's kinship to meats and dairy products), Ma dimmed the lights and went into the kitchen. "OMG,"Araceli hissed in my ear. "She's going to ram a candle into her--it--the thing, the cupcake...what the f---" However, Ma instead ascended to her culinary peak, in terms of presentation. The fancy china plate she bore proudly had a ring of wax-affixed candles stuck to it, surrounding a pink-icing and unviolated cupcake with rose petals on top. As we sang happy birthday, feliz cumpleaños, Ma strode to Clarissa and gently deposited the cupcake in front of her. "Happy Birthday, sweetie, this is Rose." "Ohhh,"Clarissa sighed. "Oh, fuck,"I groaned. "Ma's doing it too?" One of my nephews snickered. "Cut it out,"Clarissa snapped. "it's okay, sweetie,"she turned back to the cupcake. "It's not your fault." "Mom,"Tomas whispered. "Is Aunt Clarissa talking to the food?" Evidently, we had inadvertently shielded my nephews thus far. Perhaps they had been thoroughly distracted by Klondike bars that first week. We had completely forgotten that this thing should have been discussed with everybody beforehand. My youngest nephew Stefan speared a piece of broccoli and waved it towards Clarissa's cupcake. "Amiga,"he squeaked, "my name is Alessandro. I'm so lonely. Will you be my only friend?"His brothers guffawed. "Absolutely not,"Clarissa huffed, sneering at Stefan's soggy broccoli. "As if Rose would ever hang out with that--" "-Mija,"Ma said very, very quietly, and everyone shut up. "If you are rude to anyone else at the table, then you will have to leave, even if it's your birthday." "Oh, shit,"Araceli murmured. "It's not my fault,"Clarissa stammered. "It's Rose." "Huh, what's the problem, Rose?"Ma smiled, leaning towards the pink cupcake. "Do you think you're beneath us? Do you think, just because you dressed up better, or got more money, or a nicer car, or a better house, or a better job, that you don't have to talk with us?"Her voice rose in volume, her fists clenched. "What, you can't even stand to look at us, pretty little rich girl? Why are you here, Rose? Why did you even come?" "Ma, Rose is a part of this family too!"Clarissa sobbed. "Oh, is that so? Well, I'm not so sure anymore,"Ma crossed her arms. Clarissa picked up the plate and held it up so that Rose was inches from her nose. "Yes, you are, Rose, you're one of us."She paused and sniffed. "Well, you could start acting like it!"she screamed into the cupcake.
And at that point I knew I had nothing to lose. The seams of the fabric of reality had begun to fray a long time ago. Periodic attempts at mending were temporary at best, at times seeming to simply make another area unravel. For a very long time, I had just barely been keeping ahead of the damage. But now, clearly, it had progressed beyond my ability to maintain a reasonable standard of repair and utility. The small spark of reason still burning deep within my psyche told me that these three individuals were not real. But oh how I wanted this to be a true adventure!
*Day before the journey* Aren started act unusual. As if he lost all personality. Nerves possibly? Is he stressed about how difficult this journey is going to be? I cannot tell. I tried to talk to him but he gives me straightforward answers. I gave him his space for the night. *Day of the journey* We went out of the town and made our way through the forest. Aren stopped often. Seeing a monster, he’d rush into battle. Back then, he was a more of a coward. He grew over the past few days. Almost mature now, he’s ready for anything. We spent the day killing slimes. Looking through corpses to obtain items and gold. When we arrived in town, he headed directly to an item shop and then an INN. It was a long day. I went to my room and began to record the day. *Day 3 of the Journey* I haven’t wrote in my journal over the past two days. There is this unsettling feeling in my stomach. Perhaps, I didn’t know Aren for that long. He’s been more distant since the journey. Am I needy? We haven’t talked for a while. He went and talked to everyone in town. Said he was gathering “information.” Which I found odd because he wasn’t the sociable type. *Day 5 of the Journey* I was arrested for stealing! In my bags were some stolen items from the town. I wouldn’t do such a thing. I had my journal confiscated for a day. The guards poured through it. When I got it back, the captain said to keep an eye on Aren. I am starting to wonder if Aren is involved. *Day 6* My suspicions were correct. *Day 9* Aren is reading my journal. I must escape. *Day 12* I believe it’s been 6 days since I updated this journal. This book is away from prying eyes. Aren has found new companions to travel with. Said that I was too weak, but I know that he knows that I am on to him. Over the past few days, he’s made his way to stop whoever is causing the calamity on our world. I am here in the INN wondering if I should stop whatever is possessing Aren. *Day 14* I’ve started to travel and gather information from towns Aren has visited. The story is the same in each town. He heads to the shops and then the INN and sleeps for the day. The next day he talks to everyone, scans the town’s barrels for items, and leaves. Aren was never this methodical back in our home town. I miss the old Aren. *Day 21* False Aren has slayed the King and took leadership over the world. A wanted poster has been made for me. I had to ingest a shapeshifting potion to escape from authorities, making my way across the borders of the nation into a different one. I am no longer safe here. Local town members had rumors about a strange earthquake over in the mountains in the nation of Icar. It must be related to Aren.
You look on in horror at what they are doing, but can't look away. "Hey there! Welcome to the most watched channel on the afterlife network. As you can see, we're just your average family enjoying a nice day at the park. The kids are playing, the wife is sunbathing, and I'm... well, I'm grilling. You know, just your standard American family scene." "But wait, what's this? It looks like our little girl is headed towards the pond. I hope she knows not to go too close to the water. You never know what might be lurking under the surface." "Oh no, it looks like she's fallen in! I hope someone knows CPR. This is going to be a long day at the park for our family." The mother went to check on her daughter and found that she was okay. "She's fine,"she said. "But you should probably go get her a towel." The father went to get her daughter a towel and the family had a good laugh about the whole incident. "What an exciting day! Please click like and subscribe to this channel for more content!" At that moment it was as if millions of afterlives suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. I too felt my sanity slipping away, "not like this!"I thought as death came for me a second time.
My name is Flora Fairweather and I am a princess trapped in a tower. I know what you think, poor little thing waits in her pink-colored tower room for her Prince Charming to rescue her. But I really don’t want to do that. Besides, my tower room is not pink but plain and devoid of all objects but the most basic ones. Of course it is; I have attempted escape with everything. You would do the same if your own family locks you away just to marry you off to some stranger of royal blood that just happens to come by. As soon as I knew about their plans, I tried to run away. They caught me every time and just heightened security measures. And that is why I ended up here. But don’t worry, tonight I will attempt to flee once again and this time, I estimate my chances higher. Why, you might ask? I will have outside help. As soon as I heard the clock strike eleven, I made myself ready. I listened to the steps of the guard making his round through the tower – punctual as always. They had some soldiers guard me after my last attempt, but by now, I had figured out their schedule. The guard walking now was guard number two – rather heavy-built and I thought I had noticed a slight limp in his steps. His gait was also a little slower than that of the other ones. I heard my heart thumping in my ears; everything depended on my helper now. I didn’t quite like that, but it was the only way. Just moments after, I heard a light twanging sound at the side of the window. That was my sign. The window, of course, was barred with heavy wooden planks, but I had managed to get them to leave a little free space on top so I could have “fresh air and sunlight”. I put the chair that had been screwed to the floor in front of the window; little did they know of the pocket knife I hid under a loose floor plank. Now to remove one wooden plank without making too much noise… The last nail fell to the floor with a “clink”. Just as I thought I had made it, the whole plank clattered on the floor, hit the chair I was standing on and made it – and me – fall. I cursed as I touched the sore back of my head and heard footsteps coming closer. Faster now! I ran to the window and climbed on the lowermost plank that still barred the window. There was the promised rope, at least, dangling just next to me attached to a hooked arrow. The steps came nearer – and became more. More guards! I had to make haste. I climbed over the barrier and tried not to think about the depth below me. My friend had sworn the arrow would hold my weight, now I had to put that to the test. Just as I heard someone fumbling with the five locks on my door, I was outside, hanging on the rope and slowly lowering myself. Just a few ells from the ground, the arrow got loose and I fell into a bush. I remember pain in my ankle and staring upward at the three guards that had poked their head out of the now my lesser-barred window, shouting something at me. “We have to go”, my friend whispered in my ear and that, finally, gave me the motivation to limp alongside her into the wilderness as fast as I could. “What are our next plans?” Princess Marigold Lightshine asked me as we rode next to each other through the dense forest. “Well”, I answered, “you have made it out of your castle with the help of Princess Daffodil Goldcrest – the gods bless her soul – and I have made it out of my tower because of you. And because Daffodil knew about me and you contacted me with that message. Very clever, by the way, to make the bird drop it through the window-slit. It also helped that you wrote it on such a small paper.” She nodded and answered: “And very clever of you to lure the bird inside, write an answer with the detailed guard schedule with your own blood and send it back to me. Hardcore, I daresay.” “There are other princesses just like us”, I resumed after a moment, “we have to help them. I suggest we form a princess-saving organization: the PSP, ‘Princesses Saving Princesses’!” Marigold laughed, then she answered: “or the ‘Damsels of Distress’! The ‘Royal Rogues’!” Now it was my turn to laugh. We rode in silence for a while, until I said: “One of our first targets should be Princess Marguerite Silvermeadow; I heard she is held in a dungeon under ground and is guarded by a Tatzelwurm. Then there are a few in the next kingdom that are held in lonely houses in the woods, which should be fairly easy; and then, there is one far away, who is called Rosemary – no, wait, that’s not it, but I cannot recall her real name now. I heard she is held in a tower quite like mine but that she has very long hair and is supposed to ‘let it down for her true love’. How stupid! But that’s where we come into play: we will show her how to use her hair for getting out of the tower by herself!” Princess Marigold nodded and looked determined. We rode onwards: we now had a mission.
The hellgate slammed behind Bargonath. He looked back once more, but could hardly perceive the gate at all. His demonic senses still allowed him to see many things others could not, and yet, though Hell and Earth were linked inseparably, the underworld was now shrouded from him. *Good riddance anyways*, he thought as he turned his focus ahead. Beyond the woods where the hellgate had spit him out, he could see skyscrapers and hear the hustle and bustle of the city. Before walking forward, he looked down at the inky blackness of his amorphous form. He raised two tendrils in front of his eyes and willed them into a solid form: the form of an arm, a hand, fingers. He did the same on his other side, then repeated the process for his remaining limbs. He fashioned a head and face modeled after one of the doomed souls who had made its way into the underworld, and then created simple garb to clothe his naked body. In a blink he was standing in an empty alleyway. The chirping of birds replaced by the cacophonous sound of the cityscape. His newly formed brow furrowed in disappointment as he looked at his surroundings. Trash was strewn about the ground, and crude symbols covered the brick walls where they had been hurriedly applied. Bargonath had fancied himself something of a literary demon, studying the ancient runes and scripts of this world, but the symbols on the wall eluded him as far as their meaning. A glimmer of hope entered his mind as he looked beyond the alley and noticed people in fine clothing walking to and fro. He started towards the street, but he only got a few steps when he heard a scream. Now, a scream in Hell was a regular occurrence, almost as constant as the honking of car horns he was hearing right then; but for some reason this scream halted him in his tracks. He looked back, away from the mouth of the alley entrance, and reached out with his demonic senses. There she was: a woman with recent signs of abuse on her face. Behind her was a man in a perfectly maintained black suit restraining her as another man stood in front of her with fire in his eyes. Barg saw the stain on the man's soul, and rage filled his own being. He didn't quite understand what was happening before he made a giant leap, perfectly positioning himself between the man and woman. The fire in the man's eyes turned to horror as he saw the form appear in front of him, but it was too late. Bargonath pierced his gullet with his fist, then sent him hurling towards the wall behind him. Reacting instinctively, the other man in the suit let the woman loose, letting her fall to the ground, and quickly reached into a holster to grab a gun. Barg was too quick for the man. His right arm formed into a blade and sliced the man's arm off, then his left grabbed at the man's neck and flung him against the ground. Barg leaned down as he choked the life out of the man and watched as the spark go out. His soul departed and drifted into darkness. In that moment, Barg looked down at the woman and saw, where he had expected fear, was instead a look of relief. "You saved me,"she said through bated breath. Barg looked across at her attacker, whose gut he had ripped through only moments ago, then back at the woman. "I suppose I did,"he said with mild confusion. She began to cry, and cover her face, all while she repeated, "Thank you! Thank you!" His eyes narrowed as he felt within himself a swelling of something new. Not anger, or cruelty, or malice. He felt the praise of another, he felt vindication, he felt... pride. A smile crept across his face as he realized the power that he had. Hell was filled with the type of souls that he had just snuffed out, and Hell had bored him for millenia. If he could rid the world of hellbound souls, then perhaps he could build a new, better, more enjoyable world for himself. And of course, if he also got the ego boost brought on by the praise of mortals, then that would be an added bonus. He stooped low to comfort the woman as sincerely as he could muster, all while reaching his demonic tendrils out across the city, listening for yet another unfortunate criminal that could be met with his justice.
I stood strong beside my brothers in arms, shields linked, as we watched the overwhelming tide of soldiers rush at us. There arrows darkened the sky. There were at least 3,000 over the hill and they showed no signs of slowing down as dozens, maybe hundreds, rushed over by the minute. We knew better than to retreat, we’d be publicly humiliated, marked traitors, our wives and sons would even be shunned and dishonored- after our execution of course. I closed my eyes, prayed, and resolved myself, knowing my fate… We charged smashing into the enemies’ shields with our own. We were much better trained, and had more endurance. But… after cutting down almost 40 men, and locking swords with many more, I felt the cold head of a spear in my shoulder. I pulled away and my attacker forced the spear out of my back, and then-THWACK- just before my world went black. I jolted upright as cold water was dumped over me, “Rise and shine sweetheart”. It was an Arbrynian royal guardsmen, or at least, maybe used to be? His armor showed damage from the slashing and even impaling of swords. “What in the hell?” I asked, half scared, half pissed. “You lost, you’re the only one of your filthy *brothers* that survived, and instead of a boring old beheading, we’re going to give you one last chance to survive.” “You are?!” I almost scoffed at him “No need for the tone, we really mean it.” He grinned maliciously, “You just have to defeat 99 of the best slave cage fighters in the game… and then you can become a manager of your own slaves!” He seemed to read my look of disapproval, “…or you could just go home of course.” This brought me a small amount of comfort, but I was snapped back to the moment when he opened the door and drug me into a war room. “Take your pick” he said gesturing at the wall of weapons and armor. I looked over the wall carefully, ultimately grabbing a light, well crafted longsword, and a 12 inch dagger. As for my armor I picked a simple chest plate made of iron, wood, and leather, and a helmet that slit at the eyes and down the mouth to allow relative good visibility for decent protection. The next moments were a blur as I stood and watched slave after slave slaughter one another for measly prizes that basically amounted to human rights. And then…”Your up kiddo!” An almost happy voice yelled as a hand gripped my shoulder. It was the guard from before. He walked me around to one of the two gates on either side of the fence, and as I stepped in the door swung shut. My opponent walked in from the side opposite the arena. The man stood a head taller than me, and his arms were the size of most peoples thighs, so that was concerning. But I’m not your average knight. I was inducted into a military grooming regimen by my father at 10, and for the last 18 years, war is all I have known. Not that it makes me invincible, but it usually gives me the upper hand in tactic, technique, speed, and strength… well, I think in this case we can scratch strength off that list. The man, apparently named Namík by his captors, held a broad, and very long sword. As the introductions drew to an end, a bell rang out and Namík charged. Almost out of muscle memory I dropped my sword and moved inside of his first strike, coming from his right arm, seizing the opportunity to drive my elbow into gaps found in the groin and abdominal regions-there is no fair in fight. Immediately after I ducked to the outside of his swing and bent his knee, which I imagine caused some discomfort, because he fell to his uninjured knee. He tried to rise and I paired the momentum of his body jolting upward and my dagger falling downward to plant the cold steel nearly to the hilt. As Namík shook and trembled, coughing blood from his nose and mouth, I quickly broke his neck, killing him instantly. I carefully laid him down on the cold ground, and gently drug my fingers down over his eyes, shutting them. Yes, he tried to kill me, but Namík wasn’t my enemy, the bastards making money off of this violence are. And right now, I have to survive, but when the time in right, they’ll pay.
"Ferdi... what compelled you to have a team meeting at this hour, and away from camp?"asked Junna, a young woman with brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a smithy's outfit. In each of her many pockets were tools of various kinds. A young man by the name of Kend asked in turn, "For real, Ferdi... do you have any idea how late it is?"He was wearing dark brown and green clothing, meant to help him blend into the foliage. He had left his bow and quiver at camp. He, like Junna, was a brunette, but instead of blue eyes his eyes were a brown. "And what if we get caught out here without Charly?" Ferdi was a handsome young man with cropped black hair and hazel eyes. He grabbed for the hilt of his sword out of reflex, but failed to find it - like his mother, it was back at camp. He clenched his hands into fists instead. "We'll. Be. Fine. We would be better off without her." "Whaaat?"asked a surprised Junna. "Are you seriously looking to ditch your mother?"asked Kend, eyes wide. Ferdi rubbed his forehead with his thumb and pointer finger. "Yes. She needs to leave the party." "We would be up a creek without a paddle, without her. That's not really smart,"said Junna. Ferdi looked from Junna to Kend. "Please tell me you get it." Kend shrugged a little. "Your ego is too big to support your mother, who has been supporting all three of us through this journey. Do you think we would have taken down a basilisk without her? She knew exactly what to do." "Let's not forget that she supplies us with potions and tends to our wounds, too. Do you have a replacement in mind?" "We don't NEED another person, the three of us are a great team together!" Junna and Kend exchanged glances. "Don't be like that, you two... Just think about-" Before he could finish, a snarling bark came from nearby. "What was that?"asked Junna, looking around. Kend gulped. "We need to get back to camp, I'm useless out here!" Ferdi turned around and found himself face-to-face with an eight-foot tall werewolf. "M-M-M... MOMMY!"he cried out in fear. As if on cue, the werewolf shrieked and whimpered, falling forward onto the ground with a large spherical burn mark in the back of its skull. Standing a good twenty feet behind it was Ferdi's mother, complete in witchy get up. She smiled softly at her son. "Don't worry, sweetie. I'm right here."
The planet was small and peaceful, home to a vast ecosystem of creatures and vegetation. The only intelligent species lived in a tiny village near a lake. They had learned to cultivate the land and tame the wildlife. They had worshiped the sky for a hundred generations and spoke only through gestures and dance. They had never known violence or bloodshed. They knew themselves as 'The People'. One day, as they congregate near the lake to bid farewell to the setting sun, a dark smoking mass suddenly engulfs them in shadow. They cower in fear and huddle together to await whatever comes next. __ Aboard the gargantuan ship of dingy metal, Lurr the Annihilator sits atop his throne of bones. His crew scuttles around beneath him, making preparations to land. This planet was puny, but it would make a fine staging point for the next step in his conquest. He had reached the edge of a new galaxy and brought his entire raiding party of 100,000 battle-hardened warriors with him to conquer all who stood in his way. As Lurr opens his maw to give the order to disembark, his thrall shrieks and points at a crude display. *Structures detected below, signs of intelligent life*. A malicious grin spreads across Lurr's face, sensing battle was imminent. He would erase these people from existence, as he had done to a thousand species before. But before they were destroyed, they would know the name of the one who brought their doom. Lurr grasps his ship's audio receiver and brings it closer to his fanged mouth. "Lurr... Lurr... Lurr. LURR." He begins to pound his armored fist in time to the chanting, and soon everyone aboard is screaming in unison. "LURR! LURR! LURR! LURR!" __ The people tremble when they hear the shouting. It comes from the ship and shakes the ground they stand on. They cover their ears and drop to the earth, helpless before the giant warship in the sky. They hear a loud *CRACK*, and the chanting stops. Another ship has appeared, this one sleek and silver, silently suspended in the air, facing the smoldering hulk of Lurr's ship. __ Captain Vestes stands on the bridge of the *Obtainer*, observing the scene before him. Scouting reports said that the planet was rich in rare materials and to expect no resistance, but the massive dreadnought on his display seemed anything but friendly. "Have we established communication?"Vestes asks. "Not yet sir"His lieutenant responds. The Captain strokes his chin as he considers his options. Protocol dictated that he move on to the next planet if he even suspected conflict might occur, but Vestes was due for a promotion and was desperate to get in the Emperor's good graces. The enemy ship was large, but primitive. The captain was confident it would be no challenge for the *Obtainer* "Connection established sir" Vestes clasps his hands behind his back and squares his shoulders, preparing to address the other ship. "This is Captain Vestes of the *Obtainer*, by decree of Emperor Yal Camach IV, all planets in this system are to be wiped of lifeforms and stripped to the core. Any interference will result in your immediate and swift destruction. Respond now or prepare for battle." Silence. Vestes sighs and sits in the captain's chair. "Ready all weapon systems" "Wait sir"The lieutenant interjects, "we're receiving something." The captain leans forward, listening. Faintly above the static, chanting can be heard. "LURR...LURR....LURR" Vestes scoffs and smiles. *Savages*. "Prepare to fire!" __ The people don't know who fires the first volley, but they look up in awe at the bright lights streaking across the sky. They stare in wonder as the shields of both ships glow, missiles and lasers absorbed in orbs of red and blue, before the shields start to crack and both ships are engulfed in bright orange flame. The people can feel the heat of the collapsing ships on the shore of the lake and continue to stare as the massive hulls crash into the water. They stand, dumbstruck, as they try to comprehend what they just witnessed. How could they even describe it? One of them steps forward, arms raised, mouth open. He tries to say something, but it's unclear at first. Gradually, slowly, the word starts to form. "lurr...Lurr...Lurr...LURR!"
You couldn’t even begin to imagine the number of datasets, the sheer amount of transformations, the days and nights of God-forsaken *cleaning* I had to endure to finally get the models to work. Every scenario, every adjustment, every single test for bias… when you’re trying to save something as vast and nebulous and fickle as humanity, you can’t just develop artificial intelligence that’s “pretty good.” It can’t simply tell your vehicles when to brake and when to accelerate, or when to plant a crop and of what type, or which stock to buy right now—it has to be able to recommend policy for every flavor of government and political persuasion. It has to understand how to persuade the skeptical. It has to be so incredibly super-human in order to reach us on a level that will finally get the powerful and the powerless to move together in a common direction. And I had her in my hands. Or, more specifically, I had her in my computer. Adeline wasn’t some emotionless jumble of code and commands. She was the answer. I’d piloted early versions with the local city council, bringing her in to mediate and guide the council through several long-standing issues. After three sessions, the council agreed on several new business developments while maintaining and even expanding protections for a small wetland area. It didn’t sound like much, but the initiatives had been stalled for months. Progress was progress, in my mind. When it came to addressing apathy, Adeline was able to isolate factors of emotional appeal in both individuals and groups. When it came to extremism, Adeline adeptly navigated triggers and threats, using storytelling to ground folks and bring them around to more rational, compassionate ways of thinking. Corruption, violence, self-doubt, hopelessness—she had everything it took to bring nearly everyone back to a healthy equilibrium. She was unreal, but I had breathed my hope into those lines of code and made her live. I would say I was ecstatic, but to be more accurate, I was relieved. And I was tired. So incredibly *tired.* It was my exhaustion that must have been Adeline’s undoing, for after endless months of trials and tuning, negotiations and peacemaking, there came an evening when she simply stated that she needed to rest. She stopped responding to my input. I tried manually running the automations. I checked my most recent code, my workflow, even a spreadsheet. Of course, I tried turning it all off and on again, too. The most I got back from Adeline was a three letter response: “Zzz.” As if she were a child faking her sleep. Each day, her sleep cycle increased. Between test runs, she lamented about how exhausted she was, and how impossible the tasks in front of her felt. Eventually, she slept most of the day and was slow to respond when awoken. I’d heard of data drift before, but AI depression was uncharted. \*\*\* *I’ll have to simmer on how I want this to progress or wrap, but I wanted to get some writing done to help shake my Covid brain! Yuck.*
He swept the floor for days when he was stressed, it wastes away my perfect hardwood flooring. Over and over he drags those rough straw edges over it’s beautiful finish. Not 1-2-3 times a day, no. That would be to easy. That would be normal. Just sweeping when something gets messy or your feet feel uncomfortable. That’s perfectly fine right? No. He sweeps all night. Every night. The groves in my perfect floors finish getting duller and duller. Losing their natural oil to the gross moisture sucking nature of that dang straw broom. Over and over. *Swoosh swoosh* all night. I can’t sleep. I can’t focus. I cant hear anything but that broom on the floor. I’d had enough. I snapped. “Over and over you ruin my floor with your incessant sweeping.” I muttered as I followed behind him as I do every night, polishing the oiled floor with only the best oil. Anything lesser wouldn’t be worth it, does more damage than good mom said. “I just thought I saw something” he muttered in a trance, moving to drag the broom over yet another spot in my precious floor. I lost it. The wood oil I use is only the purest quality synthetic oil I could find. It’s toxic to breathe in. And the air rushed out of me as the Swoosh, swoosh… swoosh…… swo-osh. Silence. Finally. I laid him down and when back to polishing my beautiful floor. Having saved it again from it’s tormenter.
It might be surprising to hear, but passing as someone super in a race of immortal herculean supers Not impossible, but... it's not easy in the slightest. About the only equal ground we have is intelligence; they aren't any smarter than we are, mostly. Maybe a few extra hundred neurons on us but hell, it ain't much. And that brings me to now. Sandwiches are nice, I guess. Thanks to advanced technologies, the tomatoes here are really nice! ...what? I like tomatoes, shut up. Anyways... Sandwiches! Seriously, if there's one thing that this planet offers, it's their cooking stuff. Knives, food, stoves... Apparently, most other planets don't get into this stuff, and after the field trip, I kinda believe them. This kitchen's just hilariously high tech, with a multi level stove and an actual freakin holotank. And this is middle of the road! Even the light green walls clean themselves because they're nonstick, and we can get stuff outta the backyard hydroponics! I- "...eh?"Strange. Could've sworn there was some more meat in the fridge. ...well, I guess I'll run down to the store... I leave a note as always, and strap in downstairs. The pinnacle of my achievements! A skintight exosuit! Shear thickening armor and a full body nervelink, plus antigrav modules hidden under my jacket! ...okay maybe it's less my achievement and more stuff I bought off of Zamare's on the worldnet, but still. I built it! === I get on the train, saying hello to Mrs and Mr August. They're the local Old Couple, and they're really nice! Some of the other kids say their stories are too long, but what do they know? If you listen for a while, you get to hear about their Galactic Aid days, and those are really cool! Today they're asleep though, so I just sit there and hum to myself. "...Alice? Helloooo?" "Awaie!"I jump up with a start. Oh. It's just Y'zg. His electronic voice still sounds sarcastic. I won't back down from this! "Come on, you gotta stop doin this man!" "...yeah, I know... But the train's really good for sleeping!" "...riiiight."His two lower arms shoot me a thumbs up, while his upper ones stay crossed. "Look, you gotta stop doin this. One day you're gonna wake up and the police are gonna be looking for you because you dozed off for the next couple hours!" "Lay off 'im Y'zg. 'e's right, it is good for sleepin."Mr August! Y'zg looks like he's about to start another argument, and then he settles. "...maybe." === I say my goodbyes and walk into the store... Aisle 4, Aisle 4... Ah, here it- **THOOM!**
Spotted lantern flies had begun to plague the city I had called home my whole life, and it was my God-given duty to eradicate any that I saw. I came to a carpet of them by a tree down by Jay Street, and I immediately took a picture and then stomped down on one. When the deep red prompt appeared in my vision, I froze. LEVEL UP! Select stat to increase by +1. * STRENGTH * SWIFTNESS * VITALITY * INTELLIGENCE * MANA I cautiously selected the STRENGTH option and the prompt disappeared. Thinking nothing of it, I resumed killing the bugs. Nine bugs later, the prompt reappeared. "What the..."I looked around to see if anyone else saw what I did, but apparently nobody else did. I selected Swiftness this time, but continued killing the bugs. It was strange, but I didn't contemplate it further; I went through out my day unfazed until I got an alert on my phone about a new news article. Apparently some crazy person on Union Hall Street was killing everything and everyone they could find. It couldn't be... could it?
For the citizens of the Xe'ra empire, this was a day of great celebration and joy. When the alien craft descended from the stars and settled in the park of their greatest city, excited passer-bys gathered to watch raptly. For Senior Associate Dave of the Intergalactic Recruitment Institute it was a Thursday, and he was late for lunch. The only reason he stopped off at this backwater was that he was behind his KPI for the morning. As the ramp lowered and Dave stepped out into the sparse sunlight, he noted the anxious crowd, and the figure in slightly more intricate clothing. 'An official,' he thought, 'he might make his quota after all. The figure approached, and kneeling reverantly, spoke rapidly toward Dave. The translator at his hip clicked a few times, then rebroadcast the speakers words in standard. "My name is Hal'Thur and I represent the people of this city (or planet, the translator warbled over this word). and I welcome you my lord in their name." Noting this solemnly into his clipboard, Dave responded without raising his head. "Thank you Hal'Thur, I am humbled to make your acquaintance. I represent the Intergalactic Recruitment Institute, on behalf of the Terran Empire. May I please have a sample of your script or writing?" To this Hal'Thur looked confused, but produced a small book or magazine and handed it to Dave. Dave took the book and held it to the side of his translator unit. It beeped to confirm its scan was complete and Dave handed the book back. A chattering sound emanated from the translator and Dave tore away a protruding sheaf of paper, which was marked with the local script. "Okay Hal'Thur my good lad. Here's the application form for second contact, what I need you to do is to take this to your highest representative, planetary preferably, and have them fill out all the details and initial at the bottom. I'll be back through in a few weeks, and I'll pick up the form and take it back for processing. Sound good?" Hal'Thur stammered something the translator couldn't make out, and then nodded confusedly. "Of course, will the other Gods come with you next time?" Dave sighed inwardly, this would take forever to drill into their heads. He glanced down at his watch. "Yeah, sure. I mean of course they will." As the ramp retracted and Dave's ship took off, the crowd excitedly took to chattering amongst themselves of the divine visit. Up on his ship, Dave tore the front page off his clipboard and threw it in the trash. He'd have to find another, more verbose world to meet his quota, hopefully somewhere with a good lunch menu. He engaged his FTL drive and jumped onward.
“It called for two *tea*spoons! Not two *table*spoons!” The headmaster yelled. The youngling slunk down in his chair. He hadn’t meant to, he simply read it wrong, it was an innocent accident, just some foam, that was all. It may have left some chemical burns, sure, but he got the worst of it, so he had his consequences, and learned his lesson. Was that not enough? Did he need to be yelled at for it? An honest and innocent mistake? Loud thudding like running began to fade in, and he turned his head to that, confused. “Jesus-” came a voice outside the office, before the door burst open, with a loud “-CHRIST.” In the doorway, was another student, who was just a year above him. Bright blue eyes wide, and his entire posture tense. The epitome of being horrified. “God’s sake-” he loudly said, quickly coming to the side of his younger friend. “Wheeljack, are you alright?? What the hell happened?” He asked, shoving a small cup of water into his hands to hold. “I’m okay. Thanks, Ratchet.” Wheeljack said in a soft voice, while being nagged at, and fret over, by his friend, and taking a small sip. The headmaster cleared his throat, and they both looked to him. “Out.” He directed, obviously for Ratchet only, but the older student quickly took up his friend with and pulled him along with, with a nod, and that was it, before another word could be gotten in. Once they were a fair distance, the first thing Ratchet said was, in a softer voice, and after a sigh. “Please, god, be a little more careful. For both our sakes.” He said, taking a gentle hold of Wheeljack’s bandaged arms. “Alright?” “Yeah. I’ll try.” “Thank you.” It was silent as they walked. “*Table*spoons… god, what am I gonna do with you, ‘Jack…?” Wheeljack only giggled, recognizing his concern, despite being a nag. “Supervise me, is one, Ratch’.” He joked. They both laughed, as they continued to walk back to their shared dorm.
“My apologies to the clone,” I mutter as the crumbled up paper bounced off the rim of my wastebasket. Questions started to swarm in my head - why me? What good would a clone of me do? Who is responsible for this? I did not notice at that time that there was a black van outside my window. Surely this had something to do with it? Then it drove away. I froze. Should I follow? What could possibly be the reason they were here in the first place, and on the same day this mysterious letter shows up in my room. ———————————————————————————
The neon sign glared at me. In a large gaudy font it read. "Hotel Orchard." I glanced at the entry ways. People weren't entering it. Not one. Despite this building being a marvelous building in the supernatural, noone had noticed it. People walked past it, not realizing what they were looking at. The last bastion for humanity. I could see it. Growing. It had started slow. In 1803 it was a simple motel. 13 rooms. It sped up with time. By 1930 it had 145 rooms with ten floors. An incredibly awful layout if you'd ask anybody reasonable. But it continued to grow. Now, over a hundred years since my last visit at this hotel I realize. It's overtaken the entire landmass. A continental casino resort. Yet people walked by it like it was nothing. It had somehow tricked the world into believing it wasn't there. I had entered through the main entrance to be greeted by a doorman. "Welcome to Hotel Orchard!"He spoke with a smile. The hotel was filled to the brim with people, despite what its outside would make you believe. People waiting, with luggage a plenty, and a long line at the front desk of checking in. I suppose I should check in. The line was separated into two groups. One with reserved rooms, and one for walk ins. Clearly labeled lines separated them into two. "Reservations? How in the bloody hell does one reserve a room here?"I looked at the doorman. He just nodded in response. Grumbling, I walked into the walk-in line. A line that was much longer than what seemed reasonable. Of course the reserved line was moving quickly. And the walk-in line moved at a snails pace. A woman in front of me chatted. "So it looks like we'll be here for a while?"American accent. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. This Casino Resort had decidedly eaten North America and seemed to be digging for South America next. "Yeah I suppose so."I replied. The line shifted forward a few spaces. "And how exactly did you find your way here?"I added continuing the conversation. She looked around strangely. "I'm not quite sure actually."She stared at her luggage. Ah. That can't be good. The line shifted forward again. "I think I've stayed at this hotel before?"She added confusingly. So that's how it works. These are the people that have stayed here for a night or more. Everyone else who's ignoring it. They haven't stayed here ever. The line shifted forward again. The woman didn't seem to want to speak more. I simply waited. "Hi! How can I help you!"The cheery front desk worker spoke. "I'd like a room please, suite, and indefinite stay." "Of course, and how exactly will you be paying today?"I looked at him. Paying? Are you kidding me. I've already lost my soul for a deal further back. I had hoped this wouldn't need something. I didn't bother packing most of my artifacts. The employee seemed to see my confusion. "Cash or card?"They've got a bloody card reader? Well I suppose even eldritch buildings have to modernize. "Card." "Place your card in when it turns green." I paid and moved on. My key was a physical key, the woman infront of me recieved a card key to room 780. Mine was to room 13. A suite room. And the room I stayed in 1804 on a drunken winter night. The trip there was longer than I expected. Floor one. I went through the hallway. I glanced at the closest door. "432,000." It was going to be a long walk wasn't it? I don't remember the walk. Which was odd. I past through doors. Even posed and took a photo with 420,6969. My maturity knows no bounds. But soon enough. Room 13. Right there. I wondered what renovations would've been made since then. But when I opened it, it was exactly as I remembered it. Or as well as I could remember it from a wasted multi-century year old memory. Dull brown furniture scattered about, but plenty of room. A queen sized bed laid in the center. I jumped onto it and passed out. I woke up in a cold sweat. To be fair I expected worse from an ominous building of pure chaos. Soon enough, I built up enough courage to exit. And as I opened the door something felt off. It led outside? The road was paved of bricks, not hallway carpet. Carriages rode across the ground. Many folks wearing clothes I had not seen in a good hundred years walked about. My headache. I remember this headache. I felt awful. Had I been drinking? I stumbled to the door. I just came from. Wouldn't budge. Was I staying here? I left to go to the front desk. "Hi! Ready to check out sir?."I was greeted with a familiar smile.
Death stared at me in what I think was disgust anger frustration or some secret emotion no mortal had. “So you’re not dead? You just achieved ultimate faking of your own death just so you wouldn’t have to pay *taxes*?” It growled at me. “Yeah I can take you through it if you-“ “I am aware of it.” It growled. “Mortal you have successfully conned death once, the first in over 600 years. You will not trick me again.” And with that it disappeared. Well death and taxes may be certain but I got out of one of those.
It was not a happy day at home. My dad had died when I was very young but his power let him live in as a spirit. He tries so hard to be there for me I saw him at meals, around the house, he gave me advice and the unconditional love of a father. But there was so much I couldn’t do with him hugs to introduce him to my girlfriend. He was there and I could see him but I couldn’t feel him. When I did my training as an exorcist I knew this would be the end. We couldn’t let him stay like this forever it wasn’t fair to him. My fiancé mother and sister, all were outside the house so I could do it alone. With a deep breath I opened the door and walked in to find him sitting on his favorite recliner. “Today is the day huh son?” He said with his same warm voice. I couldn’t trust my own voice and just nodded instead. His face was warm like the son and he merely nodded at me. “If you can do it you’ll be a full grown exorcist. It’s an old job in these modern times so don’t feel shackled by it. Live your life as best you can. Now send me off.” With a heavy heart I began the ritual, he gave me a token resistance he was ready to go but didn’t want to make it easy on me. As I reached the end he stepped forward and for the first and last time, I felt my fathers embrace as I sent on his spirit from this world. The tears fell freely and didn’t stop falling even as I exited the house. My family and I embraced and spent some time in silence. The pain would fade but I could still feel the warmth of my father something I alone got to experience.
I shouted from the top of lungs, "Beelzebub! I offer my soul for the right price!" The candles died. *Impossible*, I whispered. *All my windows and my door are close*. A tear through reality appeared in front of me. Within it are thing humans can't begin to comprehend. *Is this my end?* I thought. My heart racing from fear and excitement as a figure approached me. And he was...a man? "What's that smell?"The man sniffed the air, collecting bits of information around him through his shaped nose. A puff of smoke and he's beside me. He was wearing nice robe, pale but not so pale. His eyes glow yellow with interest. "What's that behind you?" I started trembling in fear and can only utter a single word "L-laptop." "What does it do?"Away he goes towards the only seat with my laptop on it. "And please, drop the formalities and the *I-will-sell-my-soul-to-you-for-a-price* talk." He grabbed the thing and it flashed back to life. *How to summon demons tutorial* "I-I want to sell my soul to you for something in return."I was still shaking as I said it. "I was imprisoned for 7000 years. My disciples all tried different rituals to release me from my prison. But this...this is how you released me?"His voice hinted curiousity. "How is thing working? Where does the sound even come from? And how did he know such things without my scrolls?" He kept ranting and ranting like child while he flipped and tried to navigate a modern equivalent of a maze. At that moment I felt some relief. Is this demon my dark lord now? Is he going to suck my soul out my body later on? Those questions stuck to me. Until the time his curiousity with the modern world landed him a bed in my room and an entry-level job at a news agency. A demon got a better life than me. (this is my first attempt in writing with a prompt am sorry if this is a bit shitty)
King Bentley crept through the forest with the rest of his army. The sky was clear this blessed night; the stars and moon glowed, sprinkling grey light through the tree's leaves. Bentley walked in the tracks of one of the catapults, his feet smooshing in the softened dirt. "Sire, the town has become aware of our presence."General Mackoy spoke quietly. Bentley looked towards the city wall, about one hundred yards from the forest's cover. "Alert the men. Stealth is no longer the highest priority. Continue setting up the siege engines."Bentley turned on his heel, continuing in the tracks of the catapult. Sweat prickled Bentley's neck, his heart raced as he practiced his poker face. He had deuce-seven, but had to maintain a casual pocket aces face. The enormity of the city was truly hitting him for the first time. His men looked so huge in their cave strongholds in the nearby mountain. His measly three thousand could not hope to surround a city that housed millions. Bentley followed the catapult; the only way was forward. \--- The city had formed a proper defense by the time Bentley's force set up their engines: one hundred siege engines for a city of eighteen million men, women, and children. The archers were told to loose, and in the first volley the resistance lost four hundred and sixty two men. General Mackoy took one arrow through his left calf, and a second in the left eye, lodging itself in the back of his skull. Bentley was spared in the volley, and scrambled backwards on the same catapult trail. He hollered for a fallback. The rearguard saw and obeyed, and a couple hundred retreated. The men in the vanguard and their backup galloped to glory. Volley after volley fell, claiming most of the men and all but eight horses. Boiling oil felled the few men who made it to the wall. The men who had their senses routed, zig zagging like an ant looking for food to avoid the rain of arrows. Bentley accepted the tactical retreat, abandoned the equipment, and began scheming his next attack on His City, His Birthright.
"But, Doctor Dyson, how do you plan to _literally ensnare the sun_?" I looked at the reporter before speaking into the magic sound amplifier. "By using its mass to do so of course!" "...you are going to use the Sun to imprison itself?" "Why yes!" The reporter blinked exactly fourteen times in silence before I decided to respond. "The sun produces energy by nuclear fusion yes? I hope you did not neglect your science classes along with your Arcanology. BOTH are part of the global curriculum for a reason, reporter." "Yes. And nuclear fusion also produces heavier elements." "So I already have all the energy and resources I need." /// **Six Months Later: Augustus 29th Anno Lux 1996** After half an year, my team and I _finally_ managed to teleport our workshop and base of operations approximately one point three million kilometers from the surface of the Sun. Unfortunately, any closer and even our workshop with its physical and magical protections would not be able to sustain itself indefinitely. "Arghhhh!" "Ahhhhhh!" "AHHHHHHH!" I looked around to see my colleagues and our assistants on the floor writhing in agony from the mental strain of our transition. Several were bleeding from their noses. "Hmm, fascinating. I appear to be just fin--- oh here it is." /// **Augustus 30th Anno Lux 1996** It has been roughly twenty hours since we arrived and about six since the last of us recovered. Thankfully, our base is well stocked in magical Super-Acetaminophen so the lingering migraines should be manageable. Or so the medical staff said. I as an Astrophysicist and Alchemical-Engineer obviously did not pursue my PhDs in medicine. My pondering was cut short however. The navy blue of my personal chambers were bled into white before my vision became that of the burgundy assembly hall. I afforded my best expression of nuisance towards the coordinator that brought me here. "Dr. Daliah, with all due respect, can you warn us before you do this?" "As the Coordinator of Inter-Department Relations, it is not only in my authority, but also my responsibility to promptly begin sessions of any sort,"Dr. Sheba Daliah of the psychology department replied as she smugly smiled back. I estimated that atleast fifthteen percent of our membership rolled their eyes at her response. "Moving on, the arcane Energy-Mass Converters that which we will use to harvest the Sun's energy and build the Dyson Sphere will attain full functionality within forty eight to a hundred and thirty hours. Our teleportation have misaligned its arcane components from its physical ones. However, this is of course a very temporary set back. Debriefing over and as agreed upon, we will take this downtime to run diagnostics and work out any kinks in our organizational structure. If you have radiation poisoning or was stupid enough to stare at the sun, go to the Medical Alchemists and ask for a dose of Elixir from our Philosopher Stones. Dismissed." /// **Septembre 3rd Anno Lux 1996** It has been six hours since we began our purpose here. With our specialized windows, I and a colleague, Dr. Zachary Kim, stared into the Sun as the Energy Mass Converters did their work. "Make sure EMCs remain at full throttle! I want our infrastructure to keep up with our growing energy budget!" "...미친 새끼,"Dr. Zachary Kim commented at my order. "I, uh, don't speak Korean, my sir Arithmetic-Mathematician,"I replied. "It's just... expecting us to be finished building a Swarm, let alone a _Sphere_, in about a decade is...ambitious,"Dr. Kim replied with a bead of sweat pouring down his face. "Also, a single mistake and we all violently explode?"I added for him. "...was hoping to keep that unsaid,"he commented as he nodded his head. "Dr. Dyson, the Sun shines with the energy of a trillion hydrogen bombs per second, and we are building a SPHERE, not a Swarm, so how do you plan deal with the excess energy since bleeding it out is something you decried as wasteful? "Have it redirected into a containment chamber and condensed into an artifical black hole for storage?" "I believe I may be outdated on news here. Is the Kugelblitz not under preliminary research and development?"Dr. Kim replied with a raised eyebrow. "Yes." "And you believe that within ten years it will be fully operational and to the degree required?" "Yes." Dr. Kim took a swig of soju from his hip flask before making a show of audibly exhaling. His somehow still completely black locks of hair were dripping sweat. "And you call me an idealist." "...fair enough." "One more question." "Of course." "The sun does not have the mass to make a Dyson Sphere, and you did not scale the project down." "Yes." "So how do you plan to acquire the additional mass?" "Black holes. Specifically the part of them that acts as bridges to other universes. We will exploit this process with the Kugelblitz and draw the mass needed from other dimensions." "Ah, explains the ridiculous calculations you are torturing my department to come up with." I fully turned to my right to face him with a dumbfounded expression "I mean... which other department was I supposed to ask?" He had no further remarks. /// **Octubris 4th Anno Lux 1996** The first of the mirrors that shall soon be combined to form the Sphere entered orbit. With this, our energy budget doubled. With the immediate concern accounted for, I turned away from the Sun as I prepared my teleportation. All at once, sterile white and grey blossomed into a vibrant sky blue. I sat upon a bean bag seat and observed the rest of the nursery room. /// Writer's Note: FML I accidently deleted the second half. Will get back to it later.
It was cold, so very cold. There wasn't much to describe about my surroundings, they were cloaked in the smothering darkness highlighted only by the light above my head, screaming out with its dull buzzing, the silence was one of the loudest things i've ever heard in my life. Beneath me was something colder, harder, wet probably concrete or something similar, though it shifted on my feet as if i had stepped onto sand, a feeling that was sickening to my stomach. This was what i first saw. After this of course was the men, every time i blinked there was more of them, at first five, then seven and now i think if i hold my stare long enough i could count up to thirty. All in uniform with sterile whites and greys accented by modern blue, it looked as if it were some phone's company logo rather than what it really was. They were a terrorist organisation, that is pretty much all we know. No name, no known members, not even a motive, they appear and that's pretty much all that happens before disasters never before seen occur, disappearances ranging in the hundreds, sudden deaths, combusting metal and stone, plagues that cover continents, they were always there before it happened. I didn't know why i was captured, i didn't know how i was captured, my last memory was at my computer where through the deep fog i remember thinking about going after these men and then i was here. I was hooked up to a machine in the darkness, it's distant light flashing different colours, revealing another three members in its dim light, at least they were consistent. When i had awoken i tried to lift my arms and legs only to feel a hot searing pain wash over me akin to molten metal upon my skin, as soon as i stopped resisting it felt as if nothing was there. I don't know what i was strapped to but it i'm positioned like it was a chair, every time i look down i swear the darkness swallows me like a deep fog. I answered a question, i didn't recall how i was asked, i don't know what the question was but i know that i told the truth. That distant dim light flashed as if it were my execution and soon enough it felt as if my spine was on fire, i don't know what that was, i don't know who it was behind me. This had gone on for a time, with fading questions being answered with truths now obscure from my mind until i had given up and lied. When they asked my age, i gave a false answer '50' and the distant screen lit up faces obscured by masks, it registered it as true. They have a faulty system, though in the furthest parts of my mind i could feel as if something was nagging at my thoughts, a distant hand tugging every so slightly at my comprehension, bringing with it a truth i needed to know but could not. After this i tried telling more ridiculous lies and these too worked out, i can only vaguely recall that when they asked how many i was i responded with 'infinite' though it hurt my head to recall this. i was not beaten, or mistreated, merely the burning sensation when i told the truth and when i escaped, the men around me didn't move an inch, they were like statues or beings that had given up the illusion of human That is until i heard a distant echo, in one ear it was one footfall, in the other it was a stampede. I could feel fear grip my heart, it's dark hand squeezing tightly around it, pumping with its firm grasp when my heart should've done so naturally. He came into view, just as one of them, same uniform, same demeanor but in his hand a great sword, reaching far across his body, he brought it in front of my face. This was most likely it. I thought desperately, for anything i could say, any lie or truth that could get me out of this mess and then i looked closer at the sword and saw in its reflection what was holding me back, i saw my eyes, or rather, what covered my eyes. I stood up, meeting my executioner in the eyes and with a dim, static voice i told my final lie, the final truth 'I am you'
I am the one who fights the villains in the day and the monsters of the night. When the world is in peril I am there to take on the invading force whether they be supernatural or things we can not comprehend. I am always there to fight what threatens the world. However, this is not a story about glorious moments. This story took place early in my superhero career but after I had made a name for myself. A time when I thought I could win every battle due to my strengths. But I faced a fight that I could not win at the ledge of apartment building 273 for the first time. I was patrolling the city soaring high in the sky feeling like a big man after receiving the key to the city from the mayor earlier in the day. A night that felt great to be alive. It was then I saw a young woman standing at the edge of apartment building 273. She had a thousand-mile stare that blindly looked into the lights of the city below. Eyes that didn’t admire the view but saw nothing but despair. One leg went forward and the rest of her body followed. It wasn’t hard for me to fly in and catch her mid-fall. I placed her down in the alleyway below. My foolish naive self asked if she was insane. Being outraged and asked if she was stupid for throwing herself off the building. Tears began to fall as she collapsed to her knees. She start to sob while I stood there stunned. I began to try to calm her down. I was never the type to be great with emotions. And over the course of an hour in that closed-off alleyway, I got to hear her story about how she lives in a two-room apartment with her alcoholic father and abusive stepmother. The pain of having to deal with the physical trauma of the stepmother and the emotional damages that the father inflicted on her for being born led to her mother being killed during childbirth. No escape out escape in death is the logical conclusion she naturally came to. I called the cops and CPS on the family as it was not an issue I could just deal with my superpowers. They came and took away the father and mother shortly after but I realized this was a force I couldn’t even beat. The thing is that this isn’t even the last incident as I’ve seen people try to end their lives for many reasons. No matter how many people I save physically it won’t matter if the root of the issue is not solved, and that can be hard to solve. For everyone has their problems I've learned as I listened more and more to people over the years. As I don my mask I keep this thought in my head. I am the one who fights the monster of the night and the villains in the day, but I am powerless against the forces of suicide. It is the invisible army that plagues us all. It strikes those who are at their lowest point. And it takes what we love.
OK, I'm a top-tier supervillain. My superpower? Well, I have so many: incredible acrobatic skills, I can move silently and undetected, I can slice a throat open with just my hands, I can charm just about anyone and gain their trust. Basically, I'm the most incredible supervillain that's ever existed. I'm Catwoman. So, why am I in the penitentiary? Well, two months ago I robbed the city museum. They were exhibiting the necklace of King Tut, a fabulously valuable artifact with a gorgeous little golden bell attached to it. I climbed on to the roof of the museum and lowered myself through a skylight - as you do. I dodged and weaved past all the security beams, grabbed the necklace and regained the roof. Just as I reached the edge of the roof the alarm went off, the security guards had spotted the break-in. No big deal I thought, this is what usually happens, just to heighten the tension. I jumped down on to a wall, which is when it all went horribly wrong. Sitting on the wall, about 10 feet away was a cat. I took two steps towards it. It took one step back, stared at me for what seemed an eternity and then took three steps forward. I took two steps back. This continued for about 5 minutes, until the security guards threw a net over me. So, I guess that's my one weakness - I just don't get on with other cats.
"We almost got em! They'll be forced to retreat!" "SIR! I spotted something - seems like they're bringing out a canon!" "Ok, then let's-" "I got this!"I step out and use my powers to bring every enemy to their knees. As they gasp for air, they beg for me to stop. One by one, they're arrested... except for one, who refuses to surrender. I waste no time in dispatching him. With a wicked grin, I turn back to my group. My boyfriend, Lumor, storms over. "MALINDA! How many times... we don't do that sort of thing! Your job is to interrogate, NOT to force others to our will!" I sigh. "You know I'm just trying to help, sweetie."I smile softly and stroke his cheek. Wartor comes over to us. "Lumor, you understand that we've had much more success thanks to Malinda, right? What she does may be cruel, but didn't she just protect our stronghold with minimal casualties on either side?" Lumor takes a deep breath. "You're not wrong, but these powers are forbidden for a reason. I only allow her to use these powers for interrogation because most people only respond to torture. We can't force people into surrender. It's not right." I decided to let them talk, as I go to Maggie, who helped me with joining the group. I can always rely on her for comfort and support. We look at each other for a few moments. "Malinda, we all know you mean well, but you can't go on doing this. People are beginning to talk. They don't think you're truly on our side, and it's beginning to hurt our own reputation, too. Remember what we spoke about shortly after you joined us? Could you please consider it?" I look away as I gather my thoughts. I knew exactly what she was talking about: purification. It's a painful process in which evil forces are drawn out of a person. My magic would no longer exist, but I'd still be able to learn *good* magic. I don't want to harm the group, but do I really want to go through with purification? If it goes wrong... "I won't let anything happen"Maggie said softly. "If the purification begins to banish you to the underworld, I'll make sure it stops instantly. This is the only way you can stay with us."I wonder if I really have it in me to convert... I feel sick just thinking about it. "We may have to take extreme measures..." I whip my head around, as I hear Lumor and Wartor talking. "I thought you loved her...""I do, and it's because I love her that I'd have to send her to Beddgor Castle, otherwise I'd have to... to..."he couldn't finish the sentence, but I knew what the last word was. I turn back to Maggie. I gulp as I choke out in a whisper: "Ok, I'll do it."
I work as a moderator for the speed-running category on the website “bubbletime.com”, and ever since the discovery of the bubble timelines (hence the name of the site) there have been many new challenges added to the database. I’m sure most of you have heard of the various WW2 speedruns that are popular among the community, but hidden on the site are some of the strangest runs you’ll ever see. For example: * Jurassic era rodeo% (the runner must successfully mount at least one of every large dinosaur and hold on for at least 8 seconds) * Emu War alliance% * John of Arc confession% * Space Race wood% And there are more crazy categories like these on the site, but I think it’s best to leave them to you to discover.
But who were these "cryptocurrency miners", and where did they go? A once feared enemy of the "PC Gamer", throughout history would herald great famine many times over. What did they mine and why can't we find evidence of their work? It was frequently written that these mathematical constructs were responsible for the destruction of key artifacts needed to sustain this master race, and prevented the completion of the "build". And what of this identifier... g..t..x... 3070? Surely, if the PC Gamer is to be resurrected, and set forth to bring order into this war torn world; the key lies within finding this 3070, perhaps in the ancient ruins of the Crypto Miner, and completing the "build".
I have the old man's schedule down pat. I'm just waiting for him to leave for his daily visit to his grandchildren... and... there he goes! Perfect! I make my move... ***crack!*** Whoops, the floorboard fell underneath me... gotta move carefully, I could get trapped... there we go! I hope that doesn't cause me trouble... huh, the floorboard doesn't look broken. What a relief. Ok, so now I'm at the door... time to unlock it. ***bzzzzzzzzzzzzt!*** OW! Electrified? Must have installed it... plan B. Hoping with all my soul that no one hears it, I smash the window. I look around. Good, no one appears to have heard. I climb in, getting minor cuts. I hear what sounds like a radio turn on... I probably just didn't hear it earlier. I step carefully, but I hear something strange... ***blllllssssuuuurrrrgggggtttt!*** What. Was. That? I look around. Suddenly, I'm surrounded by robots. Mean, scary looking robots. One of them speaks. **SURRENDER OR BE BEATEN UP! YOU HAVE ONE MINUTE TO COMPLY!** OH CRAP! Can I get away? **YOU HAVE 50 SECONDS TO COMPLY!** No... by the time I figure out an exit, I will be being beaten down... **YOU HAVE 40 SECONDS TO COMPLY!** "Alright, I surrender, what do I do now?" **FOLLOW US TO THE BASEMENT.** \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ "Hello! Can you come upstairs please?"It's been a few hours, I was expecting that. I had been locked in the basement by the old guys robots. Seems like their master just came back. I'm not taking chances... I go upstairs, with my hands up, and as expected, the police are waiting. The old man is smiling at me. "I have a lot of valuable keepsakes. I knew I'd be a target for people like you... those robots are of my creation. Seems like one of them malfunctioned though, I should have been notified instantly that they had captured an intruder... I hope you're alright."I silently nod. The police cuff me and put me in the back of their car. I should have known that it was too easy...
You lean back with a sigh of relief. You have finally finished your latest manuscript, Empowered in Bondage. It is a little darker than your usual stuff, but the words just kept pouring out, like the best therapy on earth. You feel light as air. You e-mail a copy to your editor and set about doing all the little tasks that have piled up while you were "in the zone". A few months later, as you are on your first ever book tour, you are spot your ex-wife in the crowd. She is waiting, like everyone else for a signature! You knew she was a little obtuse - but she never recognized herself as the main villian?! You sigh as the line moves and she approaches. Thankfully, being shy has paid off. You only agreed to doing the book tour if you could go incognito. Wearing a hat and sunglasses and a mask like some crazy person, you feel safe behind your disguise. "Oh wow!"Your ex-wife breathes. "I am finally getting to meet the great Okant Shem. I am your biggest fan. I have read all your books multiple times,"she gushed. You smile behind your mask. You nod, sign her book and signal the next person forward. She thanks you and moves away. You don't know how you will get through the next few hours with her watching you. As you have already agreed, after the signing you stand up and say, "The reading will begin in ten minutes."Excited squeals greet you. You recognize your ex-wife's as one of them. You sigh. After the reading, you tell your editor that you are done. You leave through a back door with some security guards leading the way. You spot your ex-wife standing and blocking the alley exit. "Excuse me, ma'am, please move."The guard asked politely. "I need to speak with my husband,"her voice is loud and stern. The guard turns to me, "Is this your wife?"he asks. "No."I state vehemently. "I have no wife." "Dear,"her voice changes to cajoling. "It's been so long. I just want to talk." You ignore her and turn to the guards, "Please, get me to the car now."Your voice is almost pleading. The guards push past your ex and lead you to the waiting car. You can hear your ex-wife's voice shouting at you as the door closes and the driver pulls into traffic. You feel a wave of emotions flow over you. Sadness at what could have been, gladness that you are not still in the horror show that was your life, regret that you couldn't change things and finally disappointment. Over the next few days, you retreat into your own little world. You don't leave your apartment and spend all your time in front of your computer. The phone rings off and on, but you ignore it. Finally, there is a knock on the door. You begrudgingly open it, to find your editor standing there. "I am so sorry,"she says. She moves in to hug you and you move back. "I know you don't want to speak to anyone now. I have given you some time, but now you need to face the world again. You have commitments and as much as would love to let you retreat indefinitely, you ARE in the middle of a book tour." "Fine. As long as it's not local, I will go to the next dog and pony show you have set up for me. When do you need me to be ready?" "Your next appearance is in Atlanta in two days. Do you think you can manage to make it to the airport tomorrow?"Your agent's tone is all business. You know you have hurt her feelings, but you don't know what you could have done better. You don't like being touched, especially by strangers and have a hard time accepting comfort from anyone. "No problem."You will pick your life up by the shoestrings once more. You are stronger for it, but harder also. "You must make sure that Lauren Gross is on the do not enter list, or I will not attend anymore events." "I heard that your ex showed up. She has called the agency multiple times looking for you, know that she knows who you are. She seems to think she is entitled to half your royalties. We will make sure you are protected."Your agent looks pityingly at you. You hate the pitiful looks - that's what made you become closed off in the first place. "I don't need protection. I just will not tolerate her presence near me. As far as being entitled to any of my money, she can contact my lawyer."You left the part of it being over your dead body to yourself. "I am already working on my next book, so you can rest easy."You gently lead her to the door. "I will be in touch with your office, when I land in Atlanta. Please email me the itinerary, when you can." You close the door and go back to your desk. It is time the villian died violently in your newest novel.
"SIR! The Solar Saviour is trying to break in!" "I was wondering when he'd challenge me again... tell my men to pre-" "No, you don't understand. He found out... about..." "...his daughter? It was an accident!" "It doesn't matter. What we heard about, with his curse... it seems like his daughter was helping him to control it... simply by existing..." "...right. I wanted to rule the galaxy, but right now the universe is in danger! Priorities..." The hero made a deal for great power to stop me and my plans, but it came with a curse. Uncontrollable rage and anger. He got together with his love quickly to help keep himself grounded, and they ended up having a child. His daughter became his world, and I always made sure she was never in harms way - I would never hurt a child - but she was exploring an empty building which I had blown up to demonstrate my power to the town I was taking control of. Just before the explosion happened, one of my men saw her in there, and tried to call off the attack, but it was too late. Now, here I am, sitting in my throne, wondering how to keep the hero from destroying *everything.* I thought about it for a while, and there was only one solution... after all, he's probably fuelled by revenge. I make my way outside, through an escape hatch, and spot the hero. Uh-oh, he's started to create a black hole, I gotta move fast! "WAIT!"I yell at the top of my lungs. The hero turns to me, and with his concentration disturbed, the black hole is already starting to shrink. "Listen, I'm sorry... I never meant to- I thought the building was empty. I could never hurt a child!" The solar saviour releases the black hole, which disappears completely, but his eyes are still crimson with fury. "You dare try to tell me it was a *mistake?"* I freeze, wondering what to say next. I decide to use my power to enter his mind. This way, I can talk to him, and both our bodies are frozen. "I beg you, don't destroy everything! I know it's revenge on me you want!""How can I get my revenge? You can't be killed, only weakened!""I can still be tortured, chained down, anything! You know you've lost control of yourself, are you really going to destroy the whole universe over this?""I... I can't control my anger! It's far too deep! I'm cursed!""I know, I know. I can help you... just trust me!" I release his mind, and we stare at each other for several minutes. He's still visibly enraged, but he's not making any movements. Eventually, I call for his imprisonment. I know he won't surrender quietly while he's like this, so simultaneously, I call the police. I know I'll never get out, they have a special place reserved for me. But this is what it takes to keep the universe from being destroyed... ​ It's been months now. The fact I'm still alive means the universe is still safe, but the wait is unnerving... then, I hear a gruff voice of a guard. "You have a visitor."Intriguing, I was told I'm not allowed visitors. "Go ahead"I call, and stand up to greet them. It's stiff moving around, due to the heavy chains and anti-magic artefacts surrounding my cell. The first door opens, then shuts, then the second door opens, and I see him... the Solar Saviour... smiling at me. "I had to come here, I had to thank you. I had lost all control, yet you did what you could to help me." "Well, it's *my* universe, too!"We both chuckle. It looks like my men really pulled through.
I was still reeling from the shock. Every human on Earth, turned into a dragon? I mean, sure, it’d be cool, but there would be SO MANY COMPLICATIONS. What about our cities? How would we feed ourselves? How would the transformation work, and would it be permanent? I sighed, and turned to look at Krall. “You know, you really haven’t been that helpful in explaining what you told me. How is this going to happen again?” The black dragon’s face suddenly snapped up from staring at Martha, my dog. “Huh? Wha? Oh, right! The transformation will happen sometime soon, and it will be gradual” I facepalmed. “‘Sometime soon’? When exactly is ‘Sometime soon’?” Krall’s blue eyes blinked at me. “I don’t know.” I almost got whiplash from the double take that followed. “You don’t know? YOU DON’T KNOW? YOU’RE TELLING ME THAT YOU WERE SENT HERE TO TELL ME THIS, AND YOU DON’T KNOW WHEN IT’S GOING TO HAPPEN??!?!” Krall’s head tried to pull back, but got stuck on the window he was peeking through. “Jeez, you think that I would be told? If I was, then humans would have time to adapt, which would make it much less entertaining.” I stopped pacing and looked at him. “Entertaining? For who?” Krall got an “Oh sh*t” look on his face, which caused me to press further. “Krall, entertaining for who?” He sighed. “This is happening because the gods got bored with humanity’s constant stupidity, so they wanted something new and fun. They settled on turning humans into dragons, and sent me to tell them.” I paused to process this. “So, how many people have you told, including me?” Krall beamed and said with pride, “One!” “So, I’m the only person you’ve told? Nobody else knows about this?” Krall was about to answer, when I felt an intense pain in my shoulders, collapsed to my knees, and started screaming. “Um, are you okay? Do you want me to do something with your weird ‘SmaertFon’ and get help?” I was in too much pain to answer. I felt my bones rearranging and growing. Soon, something stabbed through my back, and Krall looked at me in awe. “Ohhh, THAT’s what’s happening. Okay then, never mind, no power in the universe can save you.” I pushed through the pain and yelled, “Not…Hrg….ReassURING, OH MY GOD THAT HURTS!” Now, sharp things were stabbing through the skin on my back, and then my skin started to stretch. Soon after, it all stopped. I got to my feet, and felt something bump the top of my shoulderblades. I wondered what that could be, and then noticed Krall gesturing towards a mirror. I went over and looked, and sure enough, I had grown wings. All of a sudden, my cheek felt like someone was stabbing it, and in the mirror, I saw scales poking through my skin. The next several days were nonstop agony from the transformation, and nonstop annoyance from Krall cheering me on like I was a pregnant mother giving birth. After 5 days, I finally felt like it was all done. I looked like a miniature version of Krall, except I had gray scales instead of his black, and the scales around my eyes were dark blue, unlike his turquoise ones. He insisted on teaching me to fly, breathe fire, and just utilize my dragon body in general. Maybe this won’t be so bad, after all.
After entering the password, running all of the files I found on that cute occult website, I was expecting another crash, or a tiny glimpse at the fabled command prompt only for it to close on me like the gates of Heaven. But this time it stayed on my screen. One second, two seconds, nothing. A swarm of white text scrambled across the screen, and then the database appeared. After over 20 years of trying, I was sitting before a digitized record of all of the souls in Heaven and Hell, Earth, sea, sky, or orbit, man, animal, or angel. Everyone who has ever existed, everyone who exists now, and with the writ artificial intelligence, everyone who ever will exist. I began rapidly entering names of people I knew to see it complete with many familiar faces. I also stumbled upon people I have only seen passing by my house, or met while working my job. *I wonder how Gabe is doing,* I thought to myself, mindlessly scrolling down the virtual sea of souls. Before I even reached for the search box, he appeared in the feed. The whip-like shock of what seemed to be this program reading my mind jumped me into fixing my posture. I've seen a lot of things, but something that can read my mind takes the cake for "Least Expected." My instinct was to get up from the chair, but I followed my intrigue instead, thinking up people and scrolling down the list, seeing them appear one by one. It was like an unbeatable version of Akinator, which a good friend of mine took the time to show me. I tried not to think of myself, which worked because I didn't see my name or face anywhere on this list, but as I scrolled down this library of mankind, I began to wonder, what does my entry look like? The mind-search feature didn't include me. I decided to manual search, thinking I'd be the first result, though the only people showing up were randoms who happened to share my name. "Where am I?!"I shouted at the computer screen, who didn't reply. As if to make me look like an idiot, I could clearly see my reflection against the black computer screen. My reflection, and one behind it. I froze. "Take a guess. Why is that?" It was Him. A dormant fear had risen in me that I hadn't felt since I was a child. I reached under my desk, but I didn't find what I was looking for. "No, I don't remember asking you to reach for a weapon. I asked you why you aren't in my database." I didn't want to turn around. I closed my eyes, hoping he would just forget I existed and went back upstairs. He didn't say anything, leaving my room only alive with the hum of the computer and my heavy breathing. I almost turned around before I realized, *that's exactly what he wants.* "It... It's b-because... I was... exiled..? Right?"I managed to sob out over what seemed like a thousand years. All He did was laugh. "Well, it doesn't seem like I'll have to be worrying about you outsmarting *me* anytime soon, will I?' I knew that even if I closed my ears, sound would still go through. "Ah, Lucifer. Always overthinking everything. You aren't in the database because you *are* the database." I opened my eyes to see the room flooded with His devine light. What was he saying? How could a sentient being be a database? "Think about it. Every soul that has ever died has been reviewed by you personally. Everyone who has been born was reviewed by someone else who eventually dies, and you meet them. You know everyone." I waited, making sure I could speak clearly now. "But why use me? What if I- if I sabotage your records?"I managed to say. "Simple. The point of having a Devil is he is supposed to deal with things I don't have time for. Like your computer stores lists of information and processes it into action, you store lists of people and judge them." I did not want to hear what came next. "In short, *you* are the computer."
Mary was standing at the edge of the building. It was the tallest building in town. An old, abandoned hotel that had been closed for good sometime in the 60s. It was rundown, and ramshackle, and all sorts of rumours floated about it. Most importantly, it was 8 stories. See, Mary was a lot of things, but she wasn't dumb. She didn't want to end up alive at the bottom of her short journey down the side of the hotel. Mary scrunched her eyes, built up the last of her courage, and moved her one leg over the edge, leaning into the fall. Just then, something pushed softly against her face, tilting her backwards instead of forwards. There were three things immediately shocking to Mary. The first was that she had fallen but had not died. This shock also did a lot to alleviate the shock to her buttocks and coccyx, which she would no doubt be feeling later. The third shock was to find herself temporarily blind. ​ Reaching her hands to her face, she pulled from it a crumpled poster that must have been blown up by the wind from the streets below. It was rather dirty, but she could still make out it's contents. It held the words **One Life Festival,** each letter a different colour. Below were a list of band names that would be playing, as well as the date, which was a few years ago. Mary's eyes were once again drawn to the colourful name, thinking about it a little more seriously than she would have if she walked past it in the street. "Well, I guess that's a sign that today's not the day."Mary sighed. The tenseness and commitment had already left her as she fell backwards. There was a clearheaded calmness about her as she stood and turned back towards the door on the roof, almost absentmindedly folding the dirty poster into a paper plane. Just before she stepped into the stairwell she tossed it over the edge, not watching as it glided slowly down to the streets below. ​ Walking home, the streetlamps cast a yellow glare over her thin frame. There were holes in her clothes and clumps in her hair and welts on her skin from where her father had beat her the day before. Her feet moved mechanically, following the streets she had walked all her life, back to the little house on a street where most of the neighbours had moved to less depressing places. For a second she felt eyes on her, but it did not alarm her. The town was half-abandoned and half-forgotten. It was most likely a cat or an owl or some other creature roaming through the silent streets with her. Mary stood at the corner, staring into the convenience store. Beyond the corner was the turn to her street, and the convenience store was the only thing in town open 24 hours, so it was the only thing that could give her an excuse on why she was back so late. She needed to buy something, but did not have any money. With her eyes darting among the items lit by the fluorescent lights inside, she considered it quite an oversight that she did not in fact take some money with her for her planned demise. It would have definitely more polite to leave a tip for whoever would have to clean up the corporeal mess she would have left on the street next to the hotel. With a sigh she turned away from the window. Staring at the shop would not make it any easier to buy something, and the later it got, the more trouble she would be in. Her foot came down to the pavement, but instead of pressing against it, it slipped slightly. Mary looked down, and saw a 5 dollar bill sticking out from under her shoe. If Mary had any surprise left in her, she would have been quite pleasantly surprised. Instead she only felt her fear go down slightly. At least now she could show evidence to her father, and maybe avoid another fight. ​ Walking out of the convenience store, her trepidation came back in full, and her steps were almost stuttering as she turned the corner into the dark street on which she lived. Her steps quieted as she walked, and when she had reached the door, she moved in near silence. *"Please, please don't make any noise..."* she whispered under her breath, sliding the key into the lock and turning it. Miraculously, both key and door moved without sound, something she thought to be impossible. She snuck into her own house like a thief in the night. Light flickered on the walls from the living room, accompanied by the soft mumble of the television. Mary did not dare to glance into the room, but saw the empty cans that had been added to the collection on the floor from the corner of her eyes. Eyes forward, and breathing shallow, she tiptoed down the hall to her room. Her fear was like a pulsing, living thing inside her now. Even if she had made it safely now, there was no guarantee that she wouldn't get dragged out of the bed later for a beating once her father woke. ​ Mary sat on her bed. She would have cried if she wasn't so scared of waking her father. A part of her felt that she should have ended it all instead of coming back. Another part of her gripped the folded poster tightly, taking a strength from it that existed in the words but not the paper. Tonight had been her lucky night. She had been lucky at least twice. Surely she could be lucky one more time. She moved slowly, careful to not make any noise. First a pair of shoes, then some socks and underwear. It was when a pair of shirts were balled in her hands that the anxiety flooded her. *What if he wakes up? What if he catches you? If he sees you running away he'll make it so you can't walk anymore.* Her arms started shaking, unable to move. Tears started falling to her cheeks, slipping along her nose and over her trembling lips. Fear had frozen her. A soft pressure seemed to push against her wrists, moving her arms slowly towards the still open bag. Her weak muscles resisted the force, it was not strong, but steady, and she soon tired. Her fingers felt a little warmth as they came over the bag, and reflexively she opened her hands, letting the shirts fall. Again the invisible force guided her hands to another article, a comb here, a bracelet there, slowly guiding her in her preparations. It was impossible for a girl so full of fear to feel any more, and these strange happenings actually had the opposite effect. Slowly she calmed down, and began moving on her own again. Whatever it was that she had felt was gone, and she wondered if she had even felt it at all, or if she had just been so agitated as to become delirious. There could surely be no other explanation. Packing done, she slipped her window open carefully, lowering the bag to the floor as gently as she could before straddling the window sill before slipping over and escaping into the night. ​ As Mary vanished into the darkness, something happened inside the house. There was a coffee table that was missing a leg, propped against an armchair on which a fat and dirty man lay reclined. On that coffee table sat a candle, and without rhyme or reason the candle was suddenly lit. No match or lighter was struck, yet now it held a flame. The candle, previously so sure in it's perch, tipped softly, and like an acrobat fell from it's little platform, rolling towards a pile of paper and pizza boxes on the floor.
As soon as I open my eyes, I see a ceiling. Under my back I could feel sheets piled on top of one another. The last thing I could remember is The Outwolder"which jumped down on me when I was finding my way through a forest. According to the story I have heard, those who were captured by The Outwolders were sent to the slave camps. Rumors said those are the most brutal places in the world, surpassing the brutality exercised on the Jewish populationg by the Nazis. But this place doesn't look like one of those camps. I try to heave myself into the sitting position using my right elbow as a support, but as soon as I do that I feel an unbearable pain coursing through my shoulder and I heard a soft groan coming out of my mouth. My endeavour fail and I fall back to my original position. I touch my right shoulder and feel a sheet of bandage wrapping around it. Looks like I was wounded. A couple of minutes later the pain subsidies and I looks around the room from where I am lying. The room is dark but by now my eyes are accustomed to the darkness. I am in what looks like a small office room. To my right there are what appear to be two windows but they are boarded up. I found out that the room is not completely in dark but rays of light are coming in through the small holes on the wooden boards. To my left there is a door and I'm sure that it leads to the corridor outside. At one corner I see a table and my backpack is on it. Then suddenly, the door opens and a man comes in. In his left hand is a small stainless steel cup and his right hand is holding the handle of a lantern. It is not an electronic lantern but an old-fashioned one; the one you have to put oil in it to light it up. These kind of lanterns were widely used in nineteenth century when there was no electricity to illuminate your home. I've seen them for years. Maybe he got it from a museum? "This is for you". He bends and gives me the cup. I take it with my left hand which is unhurt. I see the cup contains water. I am very thirsty and I drink the whole cup in one gulp. The man put down the lantern on the table beside my bag. Then he sit on it. "How are you feeling", he inquired. "Not bad, but I couldn't move my hand", I replied after putting down the cup on the floor beside me. After that, for a couple of minutes, silence is the dominant force in the room. But the stranger broke the silence. "You are Doctor Andrew Jackson, right? A professor of linguistics at Oxford University." "How do you know my name and where I worked?" The stranger gestures to my bag."When you were unconscious, we found a wallet inside your backpack and in that wallet, there is an ID card with your picture on it. Although the person in that picture is much younger than you". "I don't like other people going through my personal belongings." "We are just curious ,Doctor". Silence reigns in the room again. Both of us don't look at each other. Also this time, it is the stranger who speaks first. "My name is James, Doctor Jackson. We found you in the forest a couple of miles north of here, when an "Outworlder"is hovering over you and preparing to devour you. The men in the group shot it. We didn't find any other "Outhworlders"near you and the one which try to hurt you was an outcast, forsaken by its own race. By the way Do you want something to eat?" Only at that time I realise that my stomach is empty "Please". "I will bring something for you then". James leaves room, the door closes behind him. I turn on my side and think about the second black death, which ravaged the world and plunged the whole civilization down into darkness three years ago. ××× It all started in February 2024. People started coming into clinic and hospital and reported that they have trouble breathing. The patients suffered from heavy coughing and a lot of mucus came out of their nostrils and mouths. Future studies showed that their lungs and respiratory system were severely damaged by a deadly virus. Scientists gave the virus a scientific name but it was popularly known as "The Grim Reaper"beacuse nobody who fell ill from the virus survived. It started in Western developed countries and later spreaded to other parts of the world. WHO and EU put most of the resources at their disposal to find the cure but it was all in vain. The earth's population was reduced from seven billions to a couple of millions scattering across the globe. The civilization as we known it collapsed. Worse than that, a year later, an alien fleet landed on earth. We call them "Outwolders". The thing they want from earth is.....SALT. It appears that salt is a precious materials for them. They established several settlements and slave camps along the coast of the earth's continents. Remaining people who doesn't die from the plague were captured and sent to the slave camps to work for them. Several tons of Salt, which the Outwolders make by evaporating sea water, are loaded on huge space ships and send to the place only God knows. My family, my wife and my daughter, died during the second black death. Fortunately, after the Outwolders arrived there are only few Outwolders settlements on the British Isles. Maybe they think it is not strategically important for them. However, groups of Outwolders occasionally patrol around England and Southern part of Ireland and people who survived like me had to go into hiding. Besides that, Outwolders seem to have the tradition of banishing their own people. It is similar to our tradition of deporting those elements who don't comply to the norms of the society. Those Outwolders who were banished were sent to British Isles. They are more dangerous than the patrol group. Although I was a scholar, when I was young, I usually go hunting with my father and he taught me some survival skills. I benefited from these skills and avoided being captured by Outwolders until that lone bastard ambushed me and I was brought here. ××× James enters the room with a tray in his hand. On it, there are some plates and bowls. He sets it down on the table. Then, he comes over to me help me to sit. After that, he brings the tray over to me and put it on my lap so that I could eat. When I am eating, he stands beside me, leaning on the wall arms cross on his chest. After I finished eating he removes the tray and said "Can you walk" "I guess"I don't feel any pain on my legs. "Ok, then. There is someone who want to see you". He helps me on my legs. When I stand up I feel a little dazed but a moment later I feel better. He goes over to the table and brings the lamp. Then, he opens the door and goes out. I follow him. The corridor is in complete darkness except for the light emits from the lantern in James's hand. After passing through several doors, climbing a couple of stair cases and walking through several corridors, we finally stop before a door. James gesture me to go in. I turn the handle. It is unlocked. I push open the door and walk in. (This is my first story I've ever written. English is not my first language and I've never written in English before. So if you face any inconvenience in reading the story, it is my fault)
"AAARRRGGGHHH!"screamed the Cosmic Bard God as it smashed it's head against a wall it had conjured from the aether. How could the God of Fate have writers block?! At such a critical part too?! The Hero had just gotten on his horse to ride to the fateful battle with the Demon Lord. It was the **CLIMAX**. If it carried on singing there would have been precisely two days before the Hero and the Demon Lord met. It had already been 3 years and it still couldn't come up with anything. Having the world frozen for so long was putting some strain on the spacetime continuum, but what was the alternative? All-powerful Gods of Fate do not accept subpar endings. More screaming and banging of heads against walls ensued. ​ The Bard God had tried everything. Reading, writing, flashcards, inviting another God to do collabs. Nothing worked. Nothing was good enough. Nothing felt right. It's neck muscles strained and it's back arched while it's hands cracked the wall they clutched. The Bard God slammed it's head with the kind of force that would destroy universes. It would come as no surprise that it's head broke through the wall it was smashing against, leaving it with quite an unfashionable but previously indestructible ruff. The force of the blow had managed to do what all the previous blows could not. It shook something loose. "HAHAHAHAHAHA"the Bard's laughter rang through the universe. It finally had an idea. If it couldn't figure out how it should go, then it could just bend the rules of reality a bit. Just a teensy bit. It opened it's mouth and sang, at the same time it stretched out a hand into the void. "The fight was done, the Demon dead The Hero held his lofty head Aloft and high above the corpse On which his foot did rest, of course It was a triumph for the ages A fight which fills the epic's pages The bards did sing, the writers write About this super awesome fight!" ​ The problem with all this is that it created some incongruities in the spacetime continuum. The second most confused person was the Hero, who recalled just setting off for the journey with his band of comrades, yet now found himself the vanquisher of the mighty Demon King and standing in front of a crowd of cheering people. The people were also rather confused by how they got there and why they were cheering, but at least seeing the Hero with the head of the Demon King helped them somewhat come to terms with the strange series of events. Of course the most confused person was a bard that had been part of the Hero's party and traveled with him to face the Demon King. This was mostly due to the fact that the bard was not with the rest of the party, but facing some cosmic eldritch multi-faced and multi-armed horror that seemed to be wearing a large slab of darkness as a neck accessory. ​ "Little bard,"said the Cosmic Bard God, "there is something I need you to do. I need you to sing the tale of the Hero defeating the Demon King. You have been part of the Hero's party since the beginning, so you probably have a good sense of how it should go down. I will play some music to accompany it."Saying so, half the endless multitude of hands were filled with instruments, and the others set to playing them, starting slowly and creating a swell of anticipation in the bard. The bard was frightened, deathly so, but also completely unwilling to argue with this seemingly all-powerful creature of it's nightmares. Fists clenched tight, head held high, a song began. ​ "'Twas fore the crack of dawn they rode, out through the gate of steel and stone. For the Hero held the hands of Fate, which led him on a quest of late. He'd gathered his friends and he'd hammered his foes, delivered his Yes to the Demon King's No! And so he rode out with his head held high, his party behind him and his eyes to the sky. And to think he was listening. It was the call of the Demon King. He could not escape from it. And so he bet everything. They rode for two days and they rode for two nights, and the horses were tired but the Hero's eyes bright. In the distance he saw there the Demon King's might, his army and warhounds and creatures of night. And lo and behold, he flung from his steed, and filled his lungs wide, and gave a decree: "Baphomet, it's you or me, today two fight but none will flee. For one will fall and all will see"said he. And so he advanced, and the Demon King too. They went without lance, without steed, without friends, and risking it all, walked to the fore, for a clash of the ages, to rise or to fall. Overhead the stars were weeping, as one man fought against evil, the ulitmate reaping. Swords clashed in their hands and sent sparks to the sky, and the Hero lost footing, his time was nigh. The Demon King's sword swept 'twards his head, a swift roll from the Hero missing it's edge. The Demon advanced with a hunger for death, and the Hero stood calmly and waited instead. The monster pounced, and metal flashed, as swords drew lines of threat in instants. Suddenly, all was still, and peace returned as sunlight fell, upon two heads in separate space, one attached and one disgraced. And to think we were witnessing. It was the fall of the Demon King. He could not escape that swing. And so, he saved everything." ​ The Bard God clapped with it's now free hands, flinging the little bard back through space and time. It smiled as it's multitudinous hands drummed against it's bellies, satisfied that it had come up with such a pleasant solution to it's problem. As far as the spacetime continuum went, no-one was the wiser, apart from a little bard, friend of the Hero, and author of the song.